


Moirai

by amiphobic



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 23:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 82,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13154217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiphobic/pseuds/amiphobic
Summary: Doesn't matter which universe you place them in, Fate brings Chloe and Beca together each and every time. I'll prove it to you.[Collection of AU one-shots]





	1. Paws a Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposting from ff.net since a certain [dearsheroozle](http://dearsheroozle.tumblr.com/) is annoyed at the small font and in need. (And because I didn't get her a Christmas gift xoxo)

Beca hates animals. All animals, whether they be cats, dogs, rabbits, monkeys, pandas, possums, giraffes, polar bears, or squirrels. They're just not her thing. So when her next door neighbors ask if she can look after their pet cat for a week she says no. But then they give her that look.

_We shoveled your sidewalk every time you were too lazy to. We helped fix the leak in your roof during the rainy season. We called the police when we thought there was a burglar trying to break into your house, even if it was just you climbing through the window drunk. We-_

"Okay," she says. "Okay, yeah I'll look after him."

"Her," they correct. "Okay, well great! Here's a list of things you have to remember, when to feed her and etcetera. Uh and here's a list of phone numbers, the vet, the pet store, the animal control center."

Fantastic. This is exactly what she needs.  _Just shoot me now._  On a side note, at least the cat looks as unhappy to see her as she is to see it.

"Oh don't worry," she says to the goddamn annoying neighbors, "We're gonna have lots of fun, me and her." It's supposed to be sarcastic, but when they nod and hug her excitedly, Beca knows they've missed the point.

* * *

_Day 1_

"Don't touch anything," Beca tells the cat seriously. "That," she points to the smaller half of the living room, "Is your side. And this," she gestures to the side with the couch and TV, "Is mine. Do not cross." The cat meows at her in agreement. "Good, this might work out."

At about noon, she checks the long list of things she's supposed to remember for the cat. "Holy fuck," she exclaims, "This is harder work than babysitting." The only reason she's following the list is because she doesn't want the bigger problem of a dead cat on her hands. She'd really rather not piss off her neighbors, so she gets out the cat food they've left and pours it out into a bowl.

"Fatty," she reproaches the cat as it follows her around with the cat food in hand.

"Meow."

"Fine." Beca places the bowl on the ground, but the cat looks at her expectantly, waiting for something. She consults her list of all things relating to cat, and she curses.

_Bubbles does not eat unless you sing to her. Preferably clean songs, so as to help her digestion._

"Really? Who sings to their fucking cat?"

"Meow."

"Yeah, okay," she sighs. She's alone, so it doesn't matter, right? Surely her dignity will still be intact after this. To hell with clean songs, whatever that's supposed to mean.

"It was somethin' about this dude I couldn't stand, somethin' that coulda made his ass a real man. Somethin' I wanted, but I never was pushy, the motherfucker never ate my pussy," Beca raps, even adding the hand motions and tapping her foot to the beat. "I don't want dick tonight, eat my pussy right." The words "eat" and "pussy" seem to resonate with the cat and it sniffs the food a little suspiciously before gnawing on a piece. "Thank God," even though she's not religious.

Later, it's watching her from its side of the room. Jesus Christ, the cat's eyes are ridiculously scary, glowing and shit in the dark (because she's been too lazy to flip on the lights). There's nothing good on TV, just Pirates of the Caribbean, yet again, and Beca knows she can't make it through a shitty night sober. As she takes a trusty bottle of beer from the refrigerator, she notices that the cat has followed her into the kitchen.

"Scram," she shoos the cat with her hands, but it doesn't seem to quite get the message. Beca sighs, resigned to the shadow, and returns to the couch unceremoniously sprawling down onto it. The cat's damn eyes stay trained on her throughout her fourth and fifth beers. By the end of Pirates, she needs something stronger and brings back two bottles, one of Pimms and the other of fruit punch, not even bothering with a glass. She just alternates chugging the bottles and it's the same result really.

At about midnight, she realizes that the cat is meowing quite loudly and she glances at the list, noting something about the litter box and an extra bowl of water for the night. So, Beca grumbles as she gets to her feet and does the two tasks. The cat laps at the water without so much as a thank you. But she's glad she's done it. Gives a whole new meaning to drinking responsibly.

* * *

_Day 2_

When Beca's eyes peel open the next day at around noon she finds herself situated on the couch still, but as her head turns to the right, she groans. "Oh hell no," she grits through her teeth, "We went over this yesterday. This is my side, not yours. Now off." The cat looks at her with what she swears is a hurt expression and leaps off the couch reluctantly. Now the headache and hangover hits her. "Ugh."

How she manages to drag her body off the couch and into the bathtub is beyond her. The turning on the water part isn't tricky, but then she realizes, "Shit," that she's forgotten to undress. It's whatever, two birds one stone; less laundry and her body is getting cleaner at the same time. Beca's fingers can't seem to get a grip on the shampoo, so she just ends up pouring it on her head and clothes messily.

"Meow."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" She exclaims as she falls sideways in the tub, the water splashing all over her eyes. "No! No! You do not come in here while I am taking a shower." There's a towel somewhere next to her as she grasps blindly around for it, shampoo and water stinging her eyes. "You scared the fuck out of me."

Finally she rubs her eyes with the towel and can see the cat sitting there with a judgmental look on its face. "Mreow," it growls.

"You're not my mother," Beca hisses back. "She's fucking dead anyway, so I wouldn't be listening either way. So what if I'm showering with my clothes on? Greatest thing about being an adult, you can do whatever you want." Wearily though, she decides to strip her sweats off, but before she takes her top off, she gives the cat a killer glare. It takes the cue and marches out of the bathroom, its nose stuck high in the air. "Fucking hell, it thinks it's the Queen of Sheba or some shit."

After an impromptu lunch (lots of water and a few crackers), Beca picks up the cat-list and blurrily tries to make out the next line for the second day.

_Take Bubbles to see the Vet – Tacoma Center of Animal Care._

"Are you kidding me? I have to go out?" She looks angrily at the cat, but still gets dressed. Once she's got on a grey hoodie and matching sweats, she tops it off with a pair of sunglasses. "You really need a new name, what self-respecting cat would ever answer to Bubbles?" She swears the cat rolls its eyes. "Kalinda?" No answer. "You're right, shit name. Uh…Bonnie?" A blink. "We'll work on that."

Beca's in her car by the time she realizes that she doesn't know where the Center of Animal Care is. The cat looks a bit disoriented being plopped in the middle of the backseat. "Well buckle up while I look this shit up," she demands to it.  _Tacoma Center of Animal Care_ , she punches it in and-

"Turn right on Maryland Ave."

"Hells yeah," Beca celebrates with a fist pump. Though she hears quite a few unhappy noises from the cat in the backseat, she navigates her way just fine to the Tacoma Center of Animal Care. The cat hisses at her when she gestures for it to come out of the car. "Come on, you've got to learn to walk one of these days." It obliges rather stiffly and follows her through the front door. "Chin up," she whispers, as many pairs of eyes, human and animal, direct their attention at them.

"How may I help you?" Asks the bored clerk at the desk with a snap of his bubblegum.  _Bumper_ , according to the name tag.

Beca's nose wrinkles at the sound, "Uh, I'm here for a check-up. I mean, the cat's check-up."

The clerk looks at her.  _Duh._ "Well, what's the name?"

"Bubbles," she sighs exasperatedly, wishing for the millionth time the cat had a more badass name.

The clerk looks at her with the same expression, " _Your_ name."

"Oh, this isn't my cat. It should be under Swanson or Posen."

"Okay, take a seat, the doctor will call you when it's your turn," he says in the same monotone.

Beca salutes and backs away, the cat following her to the seat. As she wedges herself uncomfortably into the plastic chair, she points at the cat, "Michelle." Still nothing. "Okay, fine, don't be the first lady. Paprika?" The cat swishes its tail lazily at the suggestion. "Okay, no food names, got it. Lauren?"

The elderly woman next to her taps her should and interrupts, "Could I perhaps ask you a question?"

"And another one after the one you've just asked?"

"Are you the Mitchell girl?"

"No, definitely not," Beca shakes her head, her sunglasses nearly falling off. "Nope, you're mistaken."

"You just look so much like her," the old lady marvels, "Such a sad story."

"I wouldn't know," she denies again vehemently. "I probably wasn't born when it happened, in fact."

"Why, she would be about your age."

"Lots of people are around my age." The cat meows in agreement. "Thank you, Cecile." A blank stare. "Fine, I will find a name for you, though."

"Can you just take off your sunglasses?"

"I really can't." The lady is digging into her purse. "What are- what are you doing?"

"Bubbles?" A new voice saves the day, and she leaps out of the chair and practically sprints to the opened door. "I'm Dr. Beale," the woman says, and Beca's breathe catches in her throat.

"Please, I owe the Mitchells so much," the damn old lady follows her to the door with something clutched in her hand. "If you know where she is, can you give this to her?"

"I really don't know-"

"Please."

Beca sighs heavily, and takes the trinket from the old woman, "Yeah, I'll see what I can do." Finally, fucking finally, the elderly woman leaves her alone. She turns her attention back to the doctor with a mumbled apology, and tries her hardest not to blush. Dude, this lady is gorgeous. Like her ginger hair is mussed up and it's just  _hair porn,_ and her eyes are bright blue and her smile, Jesus.  _Snap out of it, Beca!_

"Yeah, I'm Bubbles," wait that doesn't sound right, "No, I mean I have Bubbles with me."

"Alright, come follow me," Dr. Beale gestures towards the inner part of the center and Beca follows her. The woman could've said anything like,  _Follow me into the 9_ _th_ _circle of Hell,_ and she probably would've followed her anyway. It's ridiculous, this woman has minimal make up on, she's wearing doctor clothes and what the fuck, why is Beca freaking out?

"So you've brought her here for a check-up?"

"Uh yeah, I'm just taking care of this cat for my neighbors and they told me to bring her in for a check-up of some sort," Beca rambles as the cat makes itself comfortable on the fluffy table.

"Oh, Bubbles and I know each other very well," Dr. Beale laughs, Beca swears her laugh is like the sound of a million bells tinkling softly in harmony or something. "I'm very good friends with Aubrey, she told me you might be bringing my baby in today." The doctor's hand affectionately rubs against the cat's cheek and scratches underneath its chin causing it to  _purr._  Seriously? Beca's never heard it so happy before; this lady must be magical.

"Okay, well, uh, I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do, should I just sit over there?" Beca feels like a fucking middle school kid with her awkward hand motions and body language.

"Do you want to watch?" Dr. Beale's hand has already reached out and caught hers. The doctor pulls her closer to the table, and she tries to protest, she really does. "Come on, it'll be fun. Your first time," Dr. Beale says with a quick wink that has Beca flushing. The cat snuggles closer to the doctor's hand and rubs its head against her outstretched fingers repeatedly.

Beca just gapes. "How…How do you do that?"

"Hmm?"

"I swear Kendra just glares at me every time I try to pet her."

"Kendra?"

From the cat's lack of response to the name, Beca sighs, "Bubbles is no name for a cat. She needs a dignified name."

"To keep her tail perpendicular?" Dr. Beale stifles a laugh as she bites down on her bottom lip. She's doing something weird with her stethoscope as well.

"No way, you actually know what I'm on about?"

"The Naming of Cats, T.S. Eliot," the doctor offers as if it's common knowledge. For the third time in five minutes, Beca finds herself completely overwhelmed and speechless. Seriously, this chick can't be for real. At her dumbfounded expression, Dr. Beale finally lets loose a chuckle, "Her peculiar and dignified name is Quill."

Surprisingly, the cat meows and blinks twice, indicating that yes, the doctor chick is correct. "How did you know?" She's genuinely considering that the lady is not from this world.

"I asked her and she told me." It's said with such a degree of sincerity that Beca finds herself believing it. "But not the last name, you never ask a cat for that."

"Well, the cat would never tell you," Beca finds herself saying, a bit dazed.

"Certainly not," Dr. Beale replies with a smile that breaks Beca out of reverie. "There, all done."

"Thanks, Dr. Beale," Beca says, waving at Quill to follow her. The cat does so, but very reluctantly.

"Please, call me Chloe," then she's grasped Beca by the wrists and pulls her forward so that they're leaning really close to each other. "I'm glad you remembered to stop by. I have a feeling we'll be fast friends."

"Well, you've seen my pussy," the brunette tries to flirt back, then aghast at what she's just said, "Okay, wow, I need to leave now. Look at the time!"

But Dr. Be- Chloe, just laughs at her. "Come by again in two days for the follow-up, Beca."

"Will do," Beca says and stumbles her way out into the lobby and out of the center. Only as she's plopped Quill down in the back of her car does she realize, "Wait, I never told her my name."

* * *

Back at home, Beca fills up Quill's bowl with food and gets a new bowl of water.

"Okay, a song. Hmm." She thinks hard for one moment before breaking out into another rap, "Told her back it up like erp erp, and I made that ass jump like jerk, jerk, and that's when she lick me like a lollipop. She lick me like a lollipop, she lick me like a lollipop, she lick me like a lollipop." Quill looks at her for one beat longer before obligingly eating the food.

As she's taking off her hoodie, something drops to the ground with a tinkle. She looks down to see the small metal bell that the old woman from earlier gave her. Delicately, her fingers curl around it and she looks at it, the light glinting off the sides. Then she's dragging out a trunk from under her bed and she tosses it in with hundreds of other similar bells. Just as quickly, the trunk is closed and stowed again.

Sighing, she heads back down to the living room and plops in front of the TV, turning it to a random show. Quill grumbles on the other side of the room. "No," she's firm. "This is my side. We have ground rules for a reason."

"Meow."

"If you bring me alcohol, then okay," Beca says, fixing it with a glare. "But you don't have thumbs, so I guess I need to get it myself." So she's up again and comes back with some sort of alcohol, she's not really sure, it's just been lying around for awhile. She takes a swig straight from the bottle, the alcohol burning down her throat and she laughs. The cat looks at her like she's fucking crazy, and she snipes back, "You're not my dad either, so fuck off. Oh wait, he's dead too," she laughs again. "Great, I'm sitting here, talking to a cat and laughing for no reason." The only thing to amend that is to drink more.

* * *

_Day 3_

When Beca's eyes flutter open the next morning she's still on the couch and the TV is still on, but Quill is nowhere to be found. "Fucking," she swears, "Where is that dumb cat?" Now, she's beginning to panic, and flips over the cushions of her sofa and tossing newspapers left and right.

"Meow."

"Oh thank God," she says, clutching her heart. "Dude, you scared me."

"Meow."

"Look, I'm sorry about last night," she apologizes and walks over to pet it. "I get crazy when I think about my parents." Surprisingly, Quill sniffs her fingers and allows her to touch its head. "Didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Meow," the cat pushes something towards her feet. Beca bends down to pick up a business card of some sort.

"Really, Quill? I don't think she's the answer to my problems. She's a pet doctor, not a crazy insane people doctor," Beca says, flipping over the card so that  _Dr. Chloe Beale_ faces away from her. "Well, I mean she's a lady doctor. You know what I mean."

Quill makes a noise low in its throat, obviously displeased.

"Oh, you're trying to be a wingman now? Wing…cat?"

The cat shakes its head at her and turns on its heel and walks towards the kitchen for food.

"Don't you turn your back on me," she's indignant that even a cat can deem her unworthy. "Great, I guess I'm starting on the alcohol a bit earlier today then." Just to make sure though, Beca checks her cat-list and sees the regular stuff, yada yada yada.

As an apology she lets Quill sit next to her on the couch as she watches one of the Harry Potter movies. Halfway through, she finds herself stroking Quill's back gently. "Harry was lucky, you know? He never knew his parents before they died." The cat closes its eyes as she scratches behind its ear. "It's more painful when you've grown up with two people who are permanent fixtures in your life and suddenly one day, they're just gone."

"Meow."

"Oh, I guess you sort of know the whole orphan thing, don't you?" Beca pauses for a moment before continuing, "My parents were very well respected by the community, they were rich, sure, but they gave back to those less fortunate. It's a lot to live up to, sometimes." She's not sure why she's telling these things to the cat, possibly because she knows Quill would never tell anyone else about this. "Was sent to live with my Godfather. I mean, he was a great guy, looked after me like I was his own. He had no idea what he was doing, the parenting scene really wasn't his, but he took good care of me. I think the only thing that hurt more than my parents' death was his."

"Meow."

"Fucking hell, yes, this is depressing, let's get drunk," she chuckles morosely. "Or, I mean, you can watch me get drunk." Quill licks her fingers reassuringly. "Thanks for listening."

* * *

_Day 4_

When Beca's eyes twitch open, she notices Quill snuggling on her chest, the two of them still sprawled on the couch. Her mouth threatens to turn into a grin, but she reigns it in.

"Okay, Quill, dear, I think we're nearly late for your follow up," she nudges the cat as gently as she can possibly manage. It blinks lazily at her before hopping off her chest. Beca quickly takes an aspirin and dresses in jeans and a tank top.

"Meow."

"No, I'm not trying to impress her," she denies. "If I was trying to impress her, I'd be wearing my birthday suit."

"Meow."

"Seriously you need to give up on this crazy idea."

"Mreow," Quill growls disparagingly and walks away from her.

"I do  _not_  have the hots for Chloe!"

* * *

Beca adjusts her sunglasses quickly before walking into the Center with Quill in her arms, still upset. The clerk is a much friendlier guy this time,  _Benji_ , if his nametag is anything to go by, and even the cat seems to take a liking to him.

"Bubbles. Beca!" She whirls around to a face full of ginger hair as the doctor gives her and Quill a tight hug excitedly. "I'm glad you remembered to come!"

"How come you address the cat before me?" It's not meant to be said accusingly, but it certainly doesn't sound teasing enough.

"Well, a cat is entitled to expect this evidence of respect."

Beca's jaw drops again, "The Addressing of Cats! T.S. Eliot again."

Chloe giggles at her expression and pulls her out of the waiting lobby into the inner sanctum. As she's lead to the room from the appointment before Beca's mouth finally catches up to her brain, "Why aren't you calling her Quill, anymore?"

"I don't think she'd appreciate if everyone knew that name," the doctor replies with a shrug, "Cats like to keep a bit of mystery around them."

As Chloe examines Quill again, Beca remembers to ask, "How do you know my name, then?"

"Quill told me."

"So like, you don't actually know about me," she tries to phrase it in a way so that the ginger doesn't know what's she's really asking.  _Do you know about my parents' death?_

"Only what Quill's told me, you live next door to her, you're very stubborn, and that you like your alcohol," Chloe's scratching behind Quill's ear now, eliciting another satisfied purr.

The brunette glares at Quill, but directs her question to Chloe, "But you don't know about my family, or anything?"

"Not really."

"Just everyone in this town knows and gossips, so I just thought, yeah," Beca feels foolish and a bit self-centered.

Chloe jots something down on a notepad, and hums, "Hmm, well I just moved here last year so I haven't had any time to listen to the gossip."

"Oh, well that's good," Beca muses. "I mean, it's not good that you haven't integrated with the community, not that it's your fault. I'm sure it's these-"

"Come have dinner with me," thankfully Chloe interrupts her word vomit.

 _Uh, what?_  "Uh, what?"

"Come have dinner with me," the ginger repeats.

"Uhm, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I'm not really good at social situations," Beca admits.

"But I've already seen your pussy," Chloe says with a damn smirk.

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

The redhead pulls her into a loose embrace and rests her forehead on Beca's, "Come to my house for dinner and I'll never mention it again."

Beca's not big on having her personal space invaded, and certainly this makes for an awkward position considering she's just met this woman not even two days ago. It must be her damn loneliness that causes her to accept, "Sure, okay." Then she shoots a look at Quill, "Don't think I didn't see your triumphant smirk."

* * *

"So, do you mind if we have pizza?"

"I love pizza," Beca answers honestly as she sets Quill down on the carpet of Chloe's apartment. It's the exact opposite of Beca's house; where her house is filled with antique furniture, Chloe's apartment is lightly furnished, where her place is dark, Chloe's is bright and colorful, where hers is lonely and large, Chloe's is homey and cozy.

Chloe gets out some cat food and begins to pour it into a plastic bowl.

"No pets?"

"Nope."

Beca feels the corners of her mouth lifting, "So the vet has no pets."

"Well, I feel like it'd be unfair to them. I'd be out every day with other people's animals and I'd come home smelling like them. My pets would always feel cheated and not loved enough," Chloe explains patiently as she fills another bowl with water.

"You're plenty loving, though," the brunette answers, "I mean, from what I witness with Quill." The cat in question meows.

"Exactly, my pets would get jealous." She sets down the two bowls and softly sings, "How can a person like you bring me joy under the pale moon where I see a lot of stars? Is enough, enough? I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes. I saw the sign, life is demanding without understanding."

"You sing well," Beca says in awe as Quill bends its head to eat the food. "But seriously, Ace of Base?"

"Says the woman who rapped Nikki Minaj?"

"It was Lil Kim," she defends. "And how'd you know?" Chloe's eyes flicker to Quill for a brief second, and Beca whirls on the cat, "Really? Private information, Quill!"

"Meow."

"And Lil Wayne," Chloe says.

"Seriously, Quill? Is nothing sacred anymore?"

"So, tell me about yourself," the doctor relaxes as she takes off her work coat and top.

"Whoa, don't think that's first date material," Beca averts her gaze.

"So this is a date, huh?" Thankfully the doctor has a tank top on now. "And here I thought it was just a friendly dinner between two friends."

As hard as she tries, Beca can't keep the blush off her face, "Well why do you want me to tell you about myself? I bet Quill's told you everything already."

"Oh just a little bit, something about your parents and your Godfather," Chloe says as she offers a glass of wine to Beca.

"That cat has no sense of what the word private means."

"Well, I was born in Michigan," the ginger smiles warmly, "I'm twenty-six years old, I've been on only three rollercoasters in my lifetime, and I had a huge crush on Michelle Pfeiffer when I was twelve."

"That's all I get to know about you?"

Chloe tells her more small fun facts while they eat pizza on the couch. After they finish, Chloe pulls out another bottle of wine.

"So this whole time we haven't even talked about your job."

"I love all animals," she finally acquiesces.

"Humans are animals, too," Beca decides to point out.  _Great job, Captain Obvious._

"Precisely, I love all animals."

"I don't know, I hate people a lot of the time," the brunette admits as she sips her wine. "They let you down and just leave."

"What about me?" Chloe asks with a mischievous quirk of her mouth.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that, you're fine," it's word vomit, just absolute crap coming out of her mouth. "Not that you're not human, just that you're a good human. Not in a patronizing way though."

"Meow." Even Quill finds it's too painful to watch.

Chloe leans closer to Beca's side of the couch with a laugh, "So tell me about yourself then, Beca."

"I'm, uh, twenty-two. I'm unemployed. I do like alcohol."

"And your parents?"

The only reason Beca answers is because that Chloe could find this information out from anyone in town, or even Google, that's the only reason she answers. "They died in a car crash nine years ago."

"Is that why the old lady gave you the bell?"

Really, Beca shouldn't even be surprised that the redhead noticed that. It's the wine speaking when she answers, "My parents were very kind people. They gave to homeless shelters, charities, all that. At a few particular homeless shelters that they helped keep alive, they went there in person to talk to the people. They gave each of them a small silver bell." Chloe doesn't say anything, just simply looks at her. Now her tongue feels leaden as she continues, "My mother would say, 'You're like this bell. You might think you're small and insignificant, but when you ring it, the most beautiful sound comes out. No matter your size, no matter who you are, you are important to me.' And they would cry and thank her."

"Your mother sounds like a lovely woman."

"Yeah well, I've got a trunk full of those bells," Beca sips more wine. "It must be the wine, because I've never told anyone that."

"Maybe I'm special," Chloe jokes lightheartedly and holds her in an embrace. "I can't imagine what it was like for you."

"You don't have to feel sorry for me, you know?"

"I don't," which surprises Beca. She's used to pity and apologies and consolations and tears.

"Then what are you feeling?"

"Love," she says simply. It's so unexpected. And so confident. And so unexpected. And so genuine. But still unexpected!

"We've just met," the brunette decides to state the obvious, "Not that I'm not flattered."

"Then you must be special," Chloe smiles warmly, clearly not expecting something back.

"I have to go," Beca says as she stands up abruptly. "Like, I have to go."

"Okay, do you want to take this wine back with you?"

"I should probably say no, but it's really damn good, so yes, I would," she answers as Chloe hands her the bottle. "Come on, Quill."

"Meow."

"Now is not the time," Beca huffs, "We'll discuss this at home." Quill grudgingly paws out the front door with her. "Thanks for dinner, and the wine, and everything," she says to the doctor, "And-"

She's cut off by a swift kiss to the cheek.

"Anytime."

* * *

_Day 5_

When Beca's eyes unwillingly crack open in the morning, she's in her bed and the clock on the stand tells her that it's the afternoon. There's clothes strewn everywhere on the ground and Quill has taken it upon herself to curl up on top of one of Beca's sweaters.

"Great," she groans. "I'm not even hungover because I didn't even  _drink_  enough."

"Meow."

"Yes, I am planning on drinking when I get downstairs." Quill follows her down the narrow staircase and into the kitchen. She is surprisingly quiet as Beca pours herself a glass from Chloe's bottle of wine. "You're not going to criticize me?"

"Meow."

"Damn right I'm a lost cause."

"Meow."

"And don't you forget it."

* * *

It must be around midnight when Beca's finally drunk enough to be relaxed. Some shit love story is on, Gone With the Wind or something. Really, Beca shouldn't be held accountable for her actions, because she's drunk. So when Quill meows at her for the millionth time that night, she snaps.

"Fine, okay, I will then," Beca growls at her and picks up the phone that she hasn't used in maybe a month. "What's her number?"

"Meow."

"Okay," she dials it in quickly. "Hiii Chloe."

" _Who is this?_ "

"Beca."

" _M'am, I think you have the wrong number._ "

"I probably do, 'cause you sound like a guy."

" _That's because I am a man, m'am. Good night._ "

The tone signals the end of the call. "Great," Beca turns towards Quill accusingly. "You gave me the wrong number."

So she tries again and this time she's met with the clear and unmistakable voice of Dr. Beale. " _Chloe Beale speaking._ "

"I love the way you answer the phone," Beca mumbles into the phone.

" _Thanks!_ "

"That way people know right away if they've got a wrong number or not."

" _I try my best. What's up, Beca?_ "

"So I've spent about two hours watching Gone With the Wind trying to work up the nerve to call you."

" _That's a good movie._ "

"I can't particularly say it made an impact on me. But anyway, Quill's here just looking at me and telling me, 'I have 9 lives, so I don't have to live life to its fullest. But you, you idiot, you only have one!' So I felt like I should call you."

" _Quill's actually on her fifth life or so though, so she's been lying to you._ "

"Damnit, Quill," Beca swears and she tosses the wine bottle in the cat's general direction. There's a smash, but luckily she's shit at aiming and Quill's alright. "I just thought you should know that I never tell people anything about me. Actually I never really go out of the house."

" _Sometimes the outside world can be a little much, I understand._ "

"I lied to that old lady, obviously. I am the Mitchell girl."

" _No, you're not. You're Beca, remember?_ "

"Well, I'm better known around here as the Mitchell girl. The one whose parents died in that  _awful_  car crash and was sent to live with her Godfather. Yeah that one. And then my Godfather died, heart attack." There's a long pause of silence and she's a little worried that Chloe's hung up. "Chloe?"

" _Yes?_ "

"Just making sure you're still there," she slurs. "I inherited my parents' fortune when I turned eighteen and so I moved back here, to my childhood home. That's why I don't work, because I don't have to, and I don't know what I would do anyway. I just sit at home, get drunk, watch TV."

" _And does that make you happy?_ "

"What is happy? I just don't understand it."

" _You know what it is, Beca. I know because I've seen you smile._ "

"Meow."

"You stay out of this, Quill," she demands, "I don't know what makes me happy."

" _Well I know what makes me happy. When people stay._ "

Beca doesn't really know what to say to that. What is there to say to that?

" _Quill likes it too. She was taken away from her mother when she was very little and then her first owners abandoned her in an empty lot. Her second home wasn't much better and she couldn't adjust to living with other cats, so the people took her back. Third time's the charm I suppose._ "

"Chloe, are you going to leave, too?"

" _Only if you want me to._ "

"I kind of don't want you to."

" _I didn't want to leave anyway._ "

"Tell me about your family."

" _Well, we have this huge extended family tree where everyone meshes together at family get-togethers. My mom has three brothers and a sister, Grandpappy died last year, but Granny is still okay. Dad has-_ "

* * *

_Day 6_

When Beca feels a rough wet tongue lapping at her fingers, her eyes protestingly snap open. After a groan, she manages to lift herself off the couch, but she quickly tumbles to the floor.

"Quill, why did you do that? Why?"

"Meow."

"Oh God, I can't believe you convinced me to call Chloe and blabber my life to her," Beca massages her temples. "I need aspirin."

One aspirin and lots of water later, Beca's wobbling to the couch with a bag of chips. The phone rings in the middle of Big Bang Theory and Everybody Loves Raymond and she actually is so startled she jumps into the air. By the third ring, Quill is hissing at her.

"What if it's Chloe?"

"Mreow!"

"What if she talks about the phone call we had yesterday?" This question earns Beca a glare from her. "I told her like, everything.  _Everything_. I never even told my therapist that much." Finally the phone quiets and the brunette lets out an exhale. "I'll deal with it tomorrow. Just let me get drunk in peace today."

Ends up that she's too lazy to get any alcohol, and she sure can't talk to Chloe sober, so she just doesn't answer the phone at all the subsequent three times it rings.

"Quill, stop pouting. I'm not answering the damn phone and that's final." The cat stares, pinning Beca with her gaze. "What if she thinks I'm crazy? Worse, what if she still wants to talk to me after that?"

"Meow."

"Shut up, I didn't ask you." After a few minutes, Beca regrets snapping at her, "Listen Quill, your real owners are coming back tomorrow, and I don't want to end things on a bad note."

"Meow."

"Okay, I'll get you some more food," Beca grunts as she moves her weary muscles and heads towards the kitchen. "There," she places the bowl in front of Quill carefully. "Seriously, you're gonna make me sing?"

Quill blinks her eyes once.

"Shorty get down, good Lord, Baby got 'em up open all over town. Strictly bitchy, she don't play around cover much ground, got game by the pound," she sings as best as she can manage. "Getting paid is a forte, each and every day, true player way. I can't get her out of my mind, I think about the girl all the time."

"Meow."

"You refuse to eat? What is this, Iron Jawed Angels?"

"Meow."

"You can starve, see if I care." Beca taps her foot, waiting. "Really? You're gonna do this to me? After all we've been through? Rush Hour 1, Rush Hour 2?"

"Meow."

"Goddamnit, okay, I'll call Chloe, just let me get some alcohol first," she grabs two bottles from the cabinet and heads back to the living room to get the phone. She doubles back to the kitchen as she presses speakerphone.

" _Chloe Beale speaking._ "

"Quill refuses to eat."

" _What awful song did you sing to her?_ "

"No Diggity, and it wasn't awful."

" _That's actually a good song._ "

"I know, right?" A low growl from Quill reminds her of the purpose of the call. "But what do I do?"

" _Am I on speaker?_ "

"Yep."

" _I hopped off the plane at L.A.X. with a dream and my cardigan. Welcome to the land of fame excess, am I gonna fit in?_ "

"No, hold up hold up," Beca interrupts. "You are not singing Miley Cyrus to Quill. She deserves better."

" _Ah, but you knew it was Miley Cyrus!_ "

"Not the point, she deserves better."

" _Alright, you choose a song then._ "

"I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose," Beca starts, a bit unsure, Chloe's not heard her sing before.

" _Fire away, fire away_ ,"Chloe joins in, taking a top harmony effortlessly. " _Ricochet, you take your aim. Fire away, fire away._ " They sound, dare she think it, good? " _Shoot me down but I won't fall, I am titanium. Shoot me down but I won't fall, I am titanium._ "

"Uh, well, Quill's eating now."

" _We sounded good together._ "

"Yeah, we did," Beca says, wondering if that's supposed to mean more. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday."

" _Why? I had a good time._ "

"I was totally wasted, but I think you could tell, and it was just absolute random shit coming out of my mouth."

" _I like talking to you._ "

"Were you, like, serious about what you said the other day?" She just has to know. Quill's in the corner rolling her eyes, but Beca needs to know.

" _Which part?_ "

"The l-loving part," it comes out all stuttering and no confidence.

" _Of course._ "

"Why? I mean, I'm a loser. I have all this money, and I just use it on booze. I'm an alcoholic, I never think about other people, I'm like the dumbest person ever. And I've displayed an extraordinary amount of immaturity in the few days you've known me. How can you love me?"

" _I just do._ "

"Like, you're perfect. You're smart, beautiful, nice, confident, caring, and just so damn amazing. There's nothing you don't know. Just I don't understand."

There's a long silence before Chloe answers, " _You're the girl who talks to a cat even when other people are around, the one who has kept a trunk of monetarily useless bells for sentimental reasons, the one who takes T.S. Eliot's words to heart, the one who raps to a cat like it's nobody's business, the one that calls me in the middle of the night to talk about random things on your mind. How can I not love you?_ "

"Those are signs of a mentally ill person, not someone you want to love," Beca insists, ignoring a particularly high pitched yowl from Quill. "I'm not a good person to be around."

" _You keep calling me though._ "

"Well, I mean, I can't help it. You serenaded me with I Saw the Sign."

" _I serenaded Quill._ " Chloe corrects.

"Well, now I feel like you love her more than you love me."

" _Oh, her eyes, her eyes make the stars look like they're not shining. Her hair, her hair falls perfectly without her trying. She's so beautiful and I tell her every day_."

Beca lets her get through the song before whispering, "I still don't get it. How do I know you won't leave me, too?"

" _You're like the bell, Beca. No matter how small and insignificant you think you are, you're important to me._   _I'd be a fool to leave that._ "

"Tell me about Michigan." It's the only thing she can manage to say. Anything else is too much.

" _We lived in a small house in a sort of suburb, and I shared a room with my older sister, who hated the arrangement. There was this huge maple tree in our front yard and I loved it so much. Sometimes in the winter-_ "

They talk all night and the alcohol sits on the counter forgotten.

* * *

_Day 7_

Beca's up before noon in a surprising twist of events and she's packed up Quill's things by the time lunch comes around. She holds the cat, stroking her softly, as they watch a Xena marathon. At around two the doorbell rings.

"This is it, Quill," Beca sighs to her. "We've had a good run."

"Meow."

"I mean, we'll still see each other once in awhile."

"Meow."

"Okay, I'm getting the door now."

* * *

Seriously, Beca's debating booze. But instead, she takes a bottle of wine and gets into her car. She nervously presses the buzzer after dialing in the room number.

" _Chloe Beale's apartment._ "

"Hey."

" _Come on up._ "

So she does. Beca enters Chloe's apartment with as much grace as she can muster while in heels.

"So to what do I owe this pleasure?" Chloe smiles graciously.

"I want to take you on a real date. Like not today, but another day."

"Was our last date not real?"

Beca stammers, "Was our last date even a date?"

"So what will we be doing on this date?"

"It's a surprise."

Chloe considers that for a moment, "But I want to be appropriately dressed."

So she reluctantly gives in, "I'm going to go adopt a cat, and you will help me. I want the kind like Quill. A mutt or whatever."

"Mutts are dogs, dear," Chloe laughs as she settles down onto the couch. "Quill is a tabby."

"So that's a yes?"

"Did you ever doubt that I would say yes?" Beca gives her an awkward side hug before the redhead takes control and wraps her into a tight embrace.

"I'll fix myself up," the brunette promises, "I'll go back to college, I'll drink less, I'll get a real job, I'll prove that I'm worthy."

"Beca," Chloe cuts her off with a short kiss. "I already said yes."

"Oh, right. But I'm still doing all of that."

Chloe Beale loves animals. All animals, whether they be cats, dogs, rabbits, monkeys, pandas, possums, giraffes, polar bears, or squirrels. And Beca is starting to understand that. She might like animals too. And maybe people as well, especially people like Chloe Beale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: Taxi. Leave a comment if you feel so inclined.
> 
> In my mind this is what [Quill](http://amiphobic.tumblr.com/post/40857795346/extra-from-moirai-quill) looks like.


	2. Vroom Goes My Heart

The first time Chloe meets Beca it's nothing monumental. It's certainly memorable, but not life-changing. For Chloe, it's another day with another customer.

Fortunately for Chloe it's a rainy Friday which equals business for her. People always forget their umbrellas and end up stuck in the rain waiting for a cab. But that's why she loves being a taxi driver; the sheer unexpected excitement each day can potentially hold.

As she rounds the corner she spots a drenched woman waving her down vigorously, and so Chloe pulls over near her. The woman slides into the cab with a sigh of relief and Chloe catches a glimpse of her face, lovely but tense. As she pulls back into the road, Chloe awaits directions. After a long pause it seems as if the destination has escaped the other woman's mind.

"Anywhere specific?"

"Oh," the short brunette woman gives a start. "Can you just drive? Like, anywhere?"

It certainly is an unusual request, but Chloe knows that faraway glaze reflected in her eyes, that disorientation, that lost look. So she acquiesces, "Sure," and she doesn't quite know where she's going yet either.

"God, I'm a mess."

"I'm Chloe."

That earns her a grudging laugh from the brunette woman as she sniffs and wipes a stray tear, "And I'm being very rude."

"You can fix that easily," Chloe replies back with an easy wink towards the rearview mirror, "Tell me your name."

"R.J. Mitchell," the woman replies with a tight smile, "I'd shake your hand, but I'd rather not crash."

Chloe grabs her hand quickly and shakes it anyway. "Not really sure that's really your name, but nice to meet you still!"

"Well, it's what everyone calls me."

"But I'm not everyone, I'm just a random stranger you'll never meet again," Chloe corrects her with a coy smile. "So, you can trust me with your secret."

It earns her another suppressed chuckle from the woman, "Okay. Call me Beca."

"Beca," she tests the name on her tongue. "Tell me something about you."

"Uhm," Beca looks as if she doesn't know how to dignify that with an answer, "Anything?"

"Something."

"Like my job?"

As Chloe heads onto the high way she considers the question. "If you could only tell me only one thing about yourself, what would it be?"

"Wow, I don't know," Beca quirks her mouth to the side as she debates her answer. "I'm a successful tax lawyer?"

"Are you?"

"Yes, of course, that's why I said it," she seems a bit miffed that Chloe is dubious.

"Well, it sounded like a question."

"Fine," Beca says, still a bit irritated, "What would you say then?"

"I already told you," the taxi driver replies with an impish grin, "I'm Chloe."

"But that doesn't tell me anything really, just your name."

"Isn't that all you need to know, though?"

The brunette lets that marinate for a moment before replying, "I suppose, but I don't get a sense of who you really are from that."

"But see I'm not defining myself for you, I just feel like if you should know anything about me, you should know that my name is Chloe."

"And what about your weird job?" A bit horrified at her own words, Beca quickly tries to cover up, "Not that I think being a taxi driver is bad."

"I chose my job," Chloe laughs, clearly comfortable with the topic. "I was on a path to studying biomedical engineering, but I didn't want it."

"Why, though?" She seems genuinely interested. "I mean it would've paid better and had better working conditions, right?"

"Sure," the redhead agrees, "But it's not what I wanted. I love being a taxi driver, I love everything about it."

"Like what?"

"I love getting up in the morning knowing that I will meet someone new. I love knowing that I will perform a service, no matter how small, something as simple as taking someone somewhere they need to be. I love driving and losing all sense of direction and just letting the traffic take me where it will. I love feeling alive." There's another long silence and Chloe sneaks a peak towards the back to see Beca gnawing on her lower lip. "Too much?"

"Oh no," the brunette reassures her, "Just a lot to think about. You're lucky, you know?"

"I am."

"Because you're able to do something that you love," Beca elaborates. "I don't know many people-actually, I don't know anyone who can say that."

"Everyone has the capacity to be happy and do something they love," she states as if it's an easy and simple truth.

But Beca isn't so sure, "I think some people have their limits."

"And what about you? Do you enjoy being a successful tax lawyer?"

"I'm the best in New York, it's something to be proud of."

"That is an accomplishment," the redhead replies, completely sincere, "But do you enjoy it?"

"Jobs aren't usually meant to be enjoyed."

"So, that's a no?"

Beca cuts off abruptly with a short laugh, "I have no idea how this happened. Suddenly I'm talking to a taxi driver like she's my therapist."

"Because I'm a random stranger that you'll never see again. I'm safe." Chloe pulls into the parking lot of a park as the rain lightens to a drizzle. "We've arrived."

"We're at the park," Beca raises an eyebrow.

"It's beautiful here when it rains," is the only answer Chloe offers back with a dazzling smile.

"It is," the brunette reaffirms. "It really is." She hands the redhead two neatly folded bills and opens the door, stepping out. "This was perfect," Beca admits as she leans back into the cab, "This is what I needed."

"I'm glad, then."

"You keep saying you're a random stranger," Beca starts cautiously, "But it doesn't have to be that way, right? I could meet up with you again, if you wanted that."

Chloe laughs as she shakes her head, "Well, if the stars align and I'm meant to see you again, then we'll see each other again."

"I…" The tax lawyer ponders that for a moment, "I like that idea."

And as Chloe drives away in the taxi, Beca feels a fleeting emotion of want, a desire to see the random strange taxi driver again. But for now, the beautiful red and gold of the leaves against the sparkling blue of the small pond is good enough.

If it's meant to be, then it'll happen. And so life goes on, and truly Beca nearly forgets about the taxi driver with the bright blue eyes and wide grin. Five months pass faster than she expects in a whirlwind of work and more work. The weariness and unhappiness lay on her shoulders even heavier than before in a burden of newly noticed weight.

In what Beca should consider an odd twist of events, she meets Chloe again at a local Starbucks purely by chance.

"Beca?" No one calls her that, well not anymore.

"Hey," slips out of her mouth before she even recognizes the person behind her. It's the taxi driver with a Yankees cap over her ginger hair and hipster glasses rimming her face. She's dressed simply, like it's a down day, a simple solid navy blue sweater and comfortable tan slacks. And maybe it is a day off for her.

"Do you remember me?" The redhead looks a bit bemused.

"Yeah, Chloe, the taxi driver," Beca nods and extends a hand. "Nice to see you again."

But Chloe forgoes the handshake and leans in for a quick hug before telling the cashier, "I'd like a Marble Mocha Macchiato and a Caramel Macchiato for my friend here."

"How'd you know I wanted a Caramel Macchiato?"

"I worked here once, that's the most popular order."

"What life experience haven't you had?"

The redhead considers that for a moment before answering, "I've never been on a debate team, never been to a male strip club, never surfed in winter, never-"

"It was a rhetorical question," Beca tries to stop the smirk that's tugging on the corner of her mouth. "I have been on a debate team though, so one upped you there."

"Damn," she teasingly snaps her fingers in disappointment as the two of them move out of the waiting line and towards a table.

"So, how's your job lately?" Although Beca's thought about this moment quite a bit, she's not really sure what to say now. Of course, Chloe manages to make it seem like holding a conversation with a stranger for the second time is the most natural thing ever.

"Oh, same old," she answers casually, "I might take a break and head to Iowa for a month or two."

"What's in Iowa?"

"Dunno, never been." Again, Beca feels a strong pull towards this woman, but she passes it off as envy. The freedom, the relaxation and assuredness that the redhead can experience are things that she's never had. "And how about you?"

"Oh same old. Hectic and stressful."

"Well, what do you like doing? What's your passion?"

"Chloe, Marble Mocha Macchiato and Caramel Macchiato," the Starbucks employee calls out. Chloe excuses herself to get the drinks for the two of them.

Upon sitting down, the redhead repeats herself, "Your passion?"

"I don't really have one," Beca admits, sipping her drink, "I mean I enjoy reading in my rare free time."

"Come on, there has to be one thing that you were dying to do when you shipped yourself onto the lawyer boat."

"Well, when I was in like middle school I had this crazy idea I'd be a singer," she laughs at the remembrance of her naivety and foolishness.

"And why not?"

Beca looks at Chloe like she's grown two heads, "What do you mean why not? It's virtually impossible to be a singer, I've had like no training, and I have a secure job already."

"Well, indulge me for a moment," Chloe says, putting a hand over hers nonchalantly, "Close your eyes." The brunette sighs, but reluctantly complies. "Now imagine you're in a bar standing on the stage with a microphone in front of you. No one else but the piano guy is up there with you, and he cocks his head towards you waiting for a song selection. You indicate that you want to sing Grenade and he-"

"Bruno Mars, seriously?"

"Okay fine, what would you choose?"

"I don't know. Something classier. Something like David Guetta."

"Close your eyes," Chloe whispers, and Beca obeys again, "Okay, you choose Titanium and he begins to play the opening chords. The smoke and alcohol are overwhelming in stench even from the stage, but as you hold the microphone everything fades away. Your doubt, your nerves, your apprehensions, those all fade away. All that's there is you on the stage singing. You hold the audience enraptured with your dedication and heart." She pauses to let it sink in. "Now open your eyes and tell me you don't want that."

"I want it," she says in a hushed tone, "I want it until I remember that I'll probably be booed off the stage and fired."

"And so what if that happens? There's millions of bars in New York."

Beca rubs her temples, "Look, I respect your job, I respect your choices, but for my own life I want to do something. One day I'll look back on my life and wonder what have I done? Did I do something I wanted or did I do something extraordinary? As a tax lawyer I know I can be the best, make an impact on the firm forever."

Just as she thinks Chloe's finally understood (she's nodding her head along with Beca's words), the redhead thoughtfully bites her lip. "I guess we want two different things from a job. But I understand why you continue with your career, I admire that about you. Just for me, I would want to look back at my life and know that I had lived. Know that I had done everything I wanted."

"I've gotta get back to the office," Beca checks her phone, realizing the time. "Meeting in a few minutes."

"Enjoy," Chloe replies cordially, "It was nice bumping into you again."

So Beca heads out into the chilly spring air, hugging her jacket closer to her for warmth, and begins her trek back to the firm's building. Halfway there she sees a group of homeless people doing an acapella version of Whip It in the middle of the street. Next to them is a sign, proclaiming them to be the "Treblemakers", and an overturned cap with some spare change and a few bills. Honestly, Beca has three more minutes to get to the meeting and she's almost late as is, but she can't help but slow down and watch their performance. Their voices blend together richly and easily, making a warm melody and upbeat accompaniment.

Beca finds herself joining in for no particular reason, and one of the Treblemakers turns in her direction with surprise and jumps in front of her dancing. He puts his hands on her hips gently and they dance together and her face breaks out into a smile, the first genuine one in a long time.

"Whip it!"

When she arrives to the meeting ten minutes late (tardiness is something unheard of from her), she doesn't mind the judgmental glances in her direction. In fact, she doesn't mind the whole situation at all.

Truthfully, Chloe never really expects to see Beca again, maybe in passing, but never for a full conversation. And the last place she would ever guess for their next meeting is at a bar. Yet, when she enters Harry's Bar and Grill seven months later and hears a sweet voice crooning a Bruno Mars and Nelly mash-up, she's surprised to see a familiar face on stage. It's most definitely Beca.

The brunette has her eyes closed and she's so immersed within the song that it's like there's no audience watching her. Her stage presence is powerful despite her small stature, and her voice is simply beyond description. Chloe finds herself swaying slowly to the beat, fingers curled around a Heineken.

"Thank you," Beca finally manages after the song is finished and there's a wave of applause following her departure. It's only logical for Chloe to look for her backstage. It's only logical to envelop the woman, who is still a stranger, in a congratulatory hug. It's only logical for her to sport the most triumphant grin.

"This is amazing!" She's unable to keep herself from gushing.

"You were right," Beca laughs into her embrace.

"I generally am," Chloe jokes. "Did you quit your job, or?"

"I quit. Started my own firm, instead. I have a lot more free time nowadays."

"I want to say this is unbelievable, but I believed in it all along, so. But why?"

"I realized you were right. I want to look back at my life and say that I lived."

"And have you?" Chloe plays with the belt loops of her jeans nervously.

"No, but I'm living now, aren't I?"

The stage manager interrupts their conversation, "R.J., you're on again in five."

"Thanks, Benji," she says as she turns her attention back to Chloe. "I've got to go."

"Tell me one thing about you," Chloe can't help but request.

"My name is Rebeca Joan Mitchell," Beca bites her lip with a small smile. "But I'm just Beca."

She's rewarded with a glowing look on Chloe's face. "I want to see you again after this, like, a date or something."

The brunette nods with a bashful expression on her face, "If I'm meant to see you again, then I will." Chloe nods and resigns herself to fate then. To her surprise Beca presses a quick kiss to her cheek, "But just in case," and slips her a piece of paper before tearing back on stage.

364-4824

And maybe they're still strangers, but Chloe knows they won't be for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: Bigfoot.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel so inclined.


	3. Don't Sasquatch My Dreams

In her defense, it isn't her choice.

Jesse, her  _idiotic_  step-brother decides it's a good idea to go camping with her mom, their dad and his mom. Right. That's not a stupid idea at all. That's not a recipe for disaster either.  _Jesus_ , Beca doesn't understand how someone with a near perfect GPA and admission into most of the Ivy League schools can be so dumb. For the record, she's only going along to make sure her mom doesn't do anything that will get her indicted. Hell yeah, she's a good daughter.

"For the last time, this will be a fun trip for all of us," Jesse stresses as they load up the truck with various bags. "You know how Dad gets when he works for too long. It'll be good for him."

"So tell me, thirty years from now when your step-son tells you, 'Hey Pops, let's go on a camping trip with mom and your ex-wife and her bitter and hateful daughter,' you're going to say…?"

"That sounds like a top notch idea, son!" He booms with a grin.

Beca rolls her eyes and tosses a particularly heavy bag at him and he staggers under the weight. "Flash forward a week after that and I'll be saying, 'He always had such great ideas,' at your funeral."

"Hey, if I could get my mom  _and_ your mom to agree, I don't see why you shouldn't go along with this," Jesse finishes loading up and closes the trunk. "Would it kill you to spend a little time with the fam?"

"Yes," she sighs as he laughs good-naturedly and envelops her in a quick hug.

"It'll be okay, Bex. You never know, maybe you'll even enjoy it."

_Fat chance._  But he's the happy go lucky one in their messed up version of a family, so of course he thinks that.

She kind of envies him, the easy way he takes everything in stride. His mom and dad get divorced because his dad cheated? That's okay, he still loves both of them. His mom falls in love with a guy who is currently married? It's okay, he'll support her throughout and encourage her to find another person. The guy ends up divorcing his wife for her and they get shacked up? Cool, hey second dad. This second dad has an unstable daughter who hates all their guts? Let's be friends!

She's definitely feeling the envy. But she kind of also hates him for it, too.

* * *

The car ride is painstakingly predictable. Beca's mom and step-mom try to make small talk, but they're failing miserably. Jesse and her dad are arguing about sports and trying to rope the others into it. And Beca? She's got sunglasses on, headphones over her ears, and she's busy immersing herself in music so as to tune the rest of them out. Everyone involved in this camping trip knows what's best for them and they don't bother her.

Mostly, she closes her eyes and imagines swirls of color and smears of paint. At some points though, she lets herself watch the family interact, the way their mouths move but no words come out (her music is blasting after all), the way her dad's forehead scrunches up as Jesse says something off-kilter no doubt, the way they all try to mesh despite the obvious knowledge that they will never truly fit together. In fact, it's something she could paint; the title could be something like The Dysfunctional Function. She could paint her mother in the lower left hand corner smiling, but betrayed by her tense shoulders. Her step-mother would provide juxtaposition to the right with a blank expression but she'd be nodding agreeably. The two women of Warren Mitchell, not snarling, no, but not beaming either. Above the step mom is Jesse, always bright and magnetic, charming the person next to him into something or other, but oblivious to everything else around him, shrouded in a white cloud of fantasy. Then the King, the one above them all, to the top left, his hand on the steering wheel and an easy grin going for him, but truly there's a hint of shadow over his face hiding his eyes, the windows to his soul.

Yes, she could paint that. Or she could be going on a fucking trip to the middle of nowhere.

She sinks lower into her seat hoping it might swallow her small figure up.

* * *

They park and get out their bags, shouldering them and beginning the hike into the woods. Alright, she'll admit that it's pretty here, the greens and blues mixing effortlessly. Beca sprays herself with the bug repellent and hands it off to her mom. As she turns she sees another group of people heading in the same direction as them, but a distance away.

"Popular camping ground?"

Jesse looks back at her, "Ah, well sort of. Those people are here on a hunt."

"What, for deer?" She's seen a few squirrels and rabbits, but nothing worth shooting really.

"Nah, it's more like a search."

"You're being awfully vague," Beca says, "Uncharacteristic of you, Mr. I-memorized-all-the-SAT-vocab."

"Well you've heard of Bigfoot, yeah?"

"Sure."

He nods towards the group of people, "They're looking for him."

A burst of laughter gusts out of her mouth until she realizes he's serious. "Wait, like, they think it's real?"

"Pretty much," he says as if it's normal behavior. "They were here last year too, so I guess they think Bigfoot has stuck around."

"Someone should tell them before they waste their whole lives chasing after something that doesn't exist," she replies, kicking a stone into the nearby pond.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

Jesse clasps a hand on her shoulder, "I'm serious, don't go over there saying that to them."

"I wasn't planning on going over at all," she answers honestly. What would possess her to approach strangers of her own free will?

"Crushing people's dreams is just too cruel," he's still talking, she realizes belatedly. "It's like watching a star go out."

"Keep waxing poetry, Shakespeare," Beca falls back on snark as the step-monster has finally caught up, busy in a heated conversation with her dad. "Are we gonna set up the tent or what?"

"Here, I'll help," Dr. Mitchell offers, one arm already extended to assist, but Beca flinches away, a reaction noticed, but not mentioned by everyone else. She just doesn't like contact of any sort with the man.

"Nah, rest your back Dad," Jesse cuts in before it gets too awkward. "Beca and I can set it up fine."

"Well, if you're sure," he says, and retreats back to unpacking with his wife and ex-wife.

* * *

It's dark by the time they've finished setting everything up, and Dr. Mitchell has started a small campfire that the five of them sit around as they munch on crackers.

"We'll have something more filling for breakfast," her mom tells her. "Like eggs, sausage, bacon, hash-"

Jesse groans, "Kathy, you're working up my appetite! Please spare me."

"Oh, do please," the step-monster says with a fond smile towards her son, "Jesse likes his food so much that sometimes I think he's gonna have another growth spurt."

"He's tall enough already," her mom assures the other woman, "And so handsome. He'll have no trouble finding a girlfriend."

"I'm flattered," Jesse laughs as Dr. Mitchell claps his back firmly. "Just waiting to meet the one for me."

"You'll find her, I'm sure of it," Dr. Mitchell proclaims. "Sometimes it takes a bit of waiting."

An awkward silence falls over them as Beca sits in the corner rolling her eyes. Trust her dad to steer the conversation exactly where it shouldn't go. She's exhausted and her patience has been wearing thin all day.

"Yeah, and sometimes you gotta marry the wrong one and have a kid with her and then divorce her to find the right one," she says as she stands, dusting off her pants. "But 'cause you met the right one it won't matter anymore."

"Beca!" Her mother reprimands her immediately, her hand gripping Beca's wrist tightly.

"Really, Mom?" The brunette turns on her mother and yanks her hand away. "I'm so sick and tired of us pretending to be a family."

"Then why'd you come?" Dr. Mitchell's face is red and there's a vein sticking out on his forehead. Ah, there it is. Where else would she inherit such a bad temper? "We're all trying our best to make things work and you're here throwing a childish tantrum."

"Warren, calm down," the step-monster touches his wrist comfortingly, "It's really-"

"You don't get to try and fix what you've broken beyond repair, Dad," Beca yells back, the heat rushing to her face. This is a familiar argument, they've been having this one for the past few years. "I'm just shattering the illusion."

"How dare you? How-"

"No, I'm done," she laughs harshly, "I'm going for a walk."

Dr. Mitchell seems on the verge of following her and giving her a piece of his mind, but his current wife keeps a firm hold of his arm.

"Just let her cool her head off."

"I'm sorry, Beth," Kathy apologizes. "And Jesse. You know how she gets."

"It's really no problem."

* * *

Beca's crashing through the foliage on course to anywhere but where her "family" is. She can feel the anger still judging by her shaking hands and unsteady footsteps. Finally, the ringing in her ears ebbs away and she's left with a hollow feeling that expands within her chest.

Great, now she's lost. Fucking  _fantastic_. And she's left her phone back at the campsite. Awesome.

She's still swearing under her breath when she notices the glow of a campfire to the east, and so she heads in that general direction. There's a group of four people sitting around the fire chatting and giggling to each other. Beca awkwardly approaches them, but chickens out halfway, and turns around ready to bolt.

"Hey!" That has her whirling around as one of the guys waves her down. "Are you lost?"

"A bit," she says as she edges closer to the group; upon closer examination there's three girls and one guy. "Is there, like, a map or something?" God, she sounds so stupid.

"Oh, we know this place well enough that we don't need a map," one of the girls says. Beca notes that she has an accent, British or Australian perhaps.

"I'm Benji," the sole male of the group introduces himself with a firm handshake. "That's Fat Amy," he points to the British or Australian blonde girl. "Jessica," he points to the other blonde girl, "And Chloe," a beaming redhead. "And you?"

"Beca."

"Nice to meet you," the girl named Jessica says politely, her voice on the quiet side.

"Want a s'more?" the redhead asks her, hand extended.

"Do you know where the nearest convenience store is?" Beca just really wants to get out of here. She's disappeared enough times in the past that her parents won't freak. They'll know she's gone home.

"Oh, Aunt Flo?" Fat Amy winces and looks at her sympathetically.

"No, I just need to get to a working phone."

The redhead stands up and beckons her, "Here, I'll take you."

"Thanks," she says as she follows the other woman down a small path to the far left. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Chloe gives her a sidelong smile, "I know what it's like to get lost here. This your first time?"

"Possibly."

"So your family won't be worried?"

Beca stops in her tracks and eyes the woman suspiciously, "How do you know I'm here with my family?"

"Well, you wouldn't go camping alone on your first time, so you either came with friends, a significant other, or family," she shrugs as if it's an obvious deduction. Well, okay, it is, but still.

"Then how do you know I'm not with friends or a boyfriend?"

"It's kind of obvious you don't like the outdoors much, you've used too much bug spray and you're wearing the wrong kind of shoes for hiking. So I doubt anyone but your parents could convince you to come along on a trip like this."

Despite everything, Beca finds herself grudgingly smiling. She likes knowing how things work, how people think, how they operate. "So, if you know everything-"

"Of course I know everything," the other woman winks (or at least, Beca thinks she does, it's difficult to tell in the dark) and whispers, "I've got a sixth sense."

"Okay," Beca humors her with an amused smirk, "Then tell me why I'm heading to a convenience store."

"Because you've had a fight with someone in your family and you want to get out of here," the knowing look Chloe throws her gives her an urge to capture this moment and sketch it later. Walking with a complete stranger in the middle of nowhere in pitch black night and she fucking knows stuff with her "sixth sense". "I know because you declined my offer of a s'more, and only someone who has just been in a serious fight can turn that down."

The brunette chuckles, not knowing if she's kidding or not, but either way, she's right. "You've got everything figured out, don't you?"

"Pretty much, well not the location of Bigfoot, but everything else-"

"You're one of those people looking for Bigfoot?" She's incredulous that a woman with such solid deduction skills can possibly be one of  _them_.

"Yep, and let me guess, you're one of those people who doesn't believe he exists," Chloe nods with her knowingly. "Knew it."

"And you believe he exists?"

"Sometimes," they continue down another winding path that leads away from the nearby lake, "And sometimes I think maybe he is just a hoax."

"Sorry to break it to ya, but Bigfoot isn't real," Beca manages as nonchalantly as possible, trying not to offend the other woman, her only lifeline in the woods.

"It's the belief that's important," the redhead assures, grabbing ahold of her arm when she nearly stumbles.

"I don't know, but what if he's fake? Then you've wasted all your time after all."

"Well, it's like religion," Chloe tries to explain, "There are people out there who devote their lives to something that a lot of others doubt."

"Yeah, and when they die they won't be around to find out that they're wrong," Beca says pointedly.

"Does it matter if they're right or wrong, though? As long as they're happy and in the end think that they have done something, isn't it enough?"

"Is that why you look for it?"

Chloe looks at the sky thoughtfully, as if considering each individual star, "What do you want out of life?"

"Uh, to never be starving?"

"Well, I want to witness something extraordinary."

"Okay, that I get," Beca finally acquiesces with a bashful laugh, "But I don't get how you can consider religion or Bigfoot or whatever to be extraordinary."

"You don't think proving all the disbelievers wrong is something extraordinary?"

"Atheist," Beca points at herself. "I'm a non-believer. I don't even believe that you'll be able to prove me wrong."

The brunette gives mad props to Chloe for not getting fed up with her and just dropping the debate. "Well, I'm not a believer per se, I guess I just like being right."

"Okay, what do you believe in then?"

"I'll believe in anything," she says, confident and sure, unwavering in her statement.

"Is that different from a believer?"

"If I want it to be."

"You're…an enigma," Beca admits, "Like you can figure out these really specific things, but you think in broad strokes. And, I just don't know."

"You're a painter, aren't you?"

The brunette looks at her incredulously, "Was it because of my broad strokes comment?"

"You have paint under your nails and on your fingers."

She's about to answer with a witty comeback, but then she realizes where Chloe's brought her. "Odd, this doesn't look like a convenience store." They're back at her family's campsite, the fire small but still bright in the distance.

"Sorry," for the first time, Chloe avoids her gaze. "I figured whatever reason prompted you to go camping is a good enough one to stay as well."

"Strangers shouldn't meddle," Beca deadpans but then softens a bit with a sigh, "I guess you're right. I forget things when I'm angry."

"Well, it was kind of a selfish thing on my part," the redhead admits, "I just want a chance to see you again tomorrow."

"Really? After our scintillating conversation where I bashed all your beliefs and generally acted like a self-absorbed asshole?"

"I want to know more about this pessimistic, non-believing, sarcastic painter."

"And here I thought you had me all figured out," Beca teases.

"Life wouldn't be fun if I already knew everything. So you better surprise me," Chloe says as she waves a farewell. "See you later, Beca."

"Maybe," and cautiously enters the tent that she's supposed to share with her mom. Upon finding her mother asleep, Beca lets out a breath and lays down carefully in her own sleeping bag. Even though she's exhausted she can't help but reflect on the conversation she's just had with Chloe. She lets herself think for one scary moment, what if Chloe's right? About Bigfoot and like everything?

* * *

Beca is coaxed awake by the smell of sizzling bacon in the morning, and she rubs the sleepiness from her eyes as she stumbles out of the tent. Only Jesse is there in the clearing and he hands her a plate with bacon and sausages with a cheery greeting.

"Where's Mom and Dad and Beth?"

"Kathy and Mom are going on a hike with me later, and I think Dad's taking you fishing," he tells her, purposefully avoiding meeting her eyes.

"Is this your guys' idea of father-daughter bonding time? Forget what happened yesterday?" She's fuming, mostly because that decision is something that should've been hers. "We can't stand each other for more than a few minutes."

"He really loves you, you know that right?"

"He loves who he thinks I am," Beca insists, "If he really knew me, I don't think he'd love me at all. It's just an illusion, I'm not his little girl anymore, I'm not that kid."

"You don't have to know someone to love them."

"Then it's superficial."

Jesse sighs wearily, "Look, I'm not gonna change your mind, so let's just drop it. I believe in the power of love and you don't." By the end his tone changes into something a bit more playful.

"What else do you believe in?" She's interested in what his answer will be in comparison to Chloe's. Although, she's pretty sure that they're going to be the same.

"Well, I believe in science and logic and religion and faith and spirituality," he ticks off on his fingers. "Everything really."

"Is that different from believing in anything?" She wonders out loud, and his brow furrows.

"Well technically everything is simply without limits, it encompasses everything even nothing. While anything is the opposite of nothing, it's referring to a part of a whole thing or idea. It can be one, some, or all," says the walking encyclopedia that is her step-brother.

"So in the end isn't 'anything' technically more flexible than 'everything'?"

"Sure," he laughs, "I guess you can look at it that way too."

"Why is it so easy for you to believe in love?"

"Should we really be having such deep conversations over breakfast?"

The brunette snorts and chews on a mouthful of sausage, "It helps with indigestion."

"Well, in favor of love, you only have to look around you, the proof is everywhere."

Beca thinks of the people that she paints in her portraits, smudged blurry figures for strangers, others shrouded in some hidden meaning she wants to incorporate, hinting at a darker theme. It's obvious that the world Jesse sees is vastly different from the world that she sees.

"Even in mourning there is loss and thus there is love! It's there behind all the tears and the pain. It only hurts because of love," he looks at her with a pinning stare, "Just because it doesn't work out sometimes doesn't mean it's not there."

When Jesse sees two people walking down a street chatting to each other, he probably imagines that they're having a fun conversation filled with inside jokes and light hearted banter. He sees that these two people are in love, or love each other, or have a good solid friendship, or are becoming something wonderful. And all Beca can think about is how they're probably talking about how some bitch hoe stole the other girl's boyfriend and how they're gonna get back at the guy, or how he's not worth it. Or perhaps even, one of them has thrown the other under a bus at work to get ahead and is just pretending to be amicable now. She can't get past that niggling thought in her brain.

* * *

Jesse and his mom and her mom leave for their hiking trip, and Beca's left alone with her dad, who in his defense, doesn't look too happy about the whole ordeal either.

"Can you hold these rods for me?"

Two fishing rods are thrust towards her and she grudgingly holds them as Dr. Mitchell shoulders a bag. He doesn't look back as he walks towards the fishing boats, but she follows him anyway. They walk in silence and load up and prepare the boat in a deathly quiet atmosphere. It defines their relationship quite well, Beca thinks.

Finally they make it out into the middle of the lake, and wordlessly, Dr. Mitchell hands her a rod and she attaches bait to the hook. She pulls her arm back and sends the line arching through the air and into the water with a splash.

She's not sure how much time passes as they wait; it's a chill activity, so she's not too worried. But when her dad breaks the silence, it takes everything she has not to roll her eyes.

"I want to…thank you for coming on this trip with us," he says, his voice subdued and quiet. "I know how much you dislike family outings. We all appreciate it."

"You don't have to lie to me. I won't tell Beth."

When he sighs, it's like everything between the two of them is weighing down on him, "I really mean it, Beca."

"Can we not do this, Dad? You know it doesn't change anything."

"I thought you hated it when we pretended," his voice is steadily increasing in volume, and she knows he's soon going to be reaching his boiling point.

"I do," Beca says, turning to face him, "But I hate it more when you try and fix us."

"You're so…" He waves his hands around his head, searching for the word, "Selfish! I am trying to apologize to you. I just don't want my daughter to hate me."

"That bridge is burnt, it became ashes when  _you_  left. It's like you shattered us like glass and after we pieced ourselves together you're trying to go over it with masking tape. Just leave it alone!"

"I feel like I don't know you sometimes," Dr. Mitchell spits disgusted, "Like you've changed into this monster who-"

"You see this cynical embittered girl in front of you who hates everything and everyone?  _You_  made her!  _You_ made her who she is today!"

"One day you'll have to grow up and start taking responsibility," he's not even angry anymore, it's worse because he's disappointed. Disappointed in  _her_. "Life isn't easy, and I've made mistakes, sure, but-"

"Just like you were responsible and decided to have a kid with a woman you didn't love?"

"Damnit, Beca. Try putting yourself in my shoes for once. It wasn't an easy decision, but-"

"I  _have_  tried to look at it from your perspective. I just don't understand why you'd change your mind one day. Sorry Kathy, I don't love you anymore," she's yelling now and it's echoing across the vast lake, and probably scaring all the fish away. But she just doesn't give a damn.

"I  _still_  love you both. I tried so hard to be there for you, but you kept pushing me away."

"Yeah well, when my dad up and leaves for a different family I think I'm justified in not wanting him in my life."

"What would you have me do, then?" He sounds sincere in his plight, but she knows better.

"Just stop trying so hard. We're never gonna be a family. Just stop."

"If that's how you feel, why'd you come along?"

She bursts out, "Because I didn't want mom to feel alone!"

"There are no sides here, Beca. It's not me versus your mom."

"That's not the point," Beca sighs, tired of this same old track they keep playing.

"Then what is?"

"You made my star go out," she says, and God help her because Jesse is rubbing off on her, "You crushed everything I knew and that's never going to change. You don't get another chance."

As his mouth opens to undoubtedly lecture her again, she shakes her head and dives off the side of the boat.

"Beca!"

"Don't come after me, I swear to God," she yells back as she swims towards the nearest shore, away from  _him_. After a few minutes, it's clear he's not following, and so she eases up and sets a more comfortable pace. By the time she's gotten to shore, she's soaked to the bone, but for the first time in awhile she feels clean.

"Hey Beca!"

She realizes that it's Fat Amy waving her down, and she's not sure which surprises her more, the fact that Fat Amy remembers her, or the fact that she remembers Fat Amy.

"Hey Amy," she greets with a quirk of her mouth, she's not up to smiling yet.

"Yeah, I sometimes feel like I need a bath too out here in the middle of nowhere," the blonde confides in her. "Just whoosh," her arm arches as she imitates a diver, "Right in."

"That's not-"

"Hey Beca," Benji greets her as he and Chloe pop out of a tent with firewood.

"Told ya, we'd see her again," Chloe says with a brazen wink in her direction.

"You're always right," Jessica chimes in by her side suddenly with an armful of plastic bags.

It finally gets a half grin out of Beca, "Yeah, she is."

"Your dad okay out there fishing by himself?"

The brunette shakes her head in disbelief, "Honestly, you're like Sherlock fucking Holmes."

Benji and Jessica retreat back into the tent to get more stuff as Chloe walks closer to Beca. Fat Amy points at Chloe behind her back and makes a heart shape with her hands, but eventually follows her other friends back into the tent.

"You have a fishing hook on your vest, and I guessed on the dad part, because my mom hates fishing, and my siblings would never go fishing with me."

"Seriously, you know everything."

"I think it'd be overstepping for me to say I know everything. I can guess a lot of stuff, but I would never say that I know people," the redhead tells her with such a degree of sincerity that Beca actually believes her.

"No one really knows anyone else," Beca finds herself saying, "We like to think that other people get us, but it's just so we don't feel lonely."

"Well, of course, it's too tragic a thought for people to consider the idea that we're surrounded by people who might never relate to us on any sort of level."

She's gaping sort of, and it's not really an attractive look so she closes her mouth, "That's not what I expected you to say."

"What, you thought I'd be like a hippie? Peace n' luv man, peace n' luv," Chloe gestures with a peace sign in a gangster-esque motion. "Or we're all God's children?"

"I just thought you'd say we are all connected on some level."

"On some level, sure, but maybe not on the level we think."

Beca nods subtly, "I just have a hard time believing in…connections."

"It's okay to want to be loved," Chloe replies without hesitation and Beca's not sure how she's drawn that conclusion.

"Love doesn't exist," she says, "Everyone thinks it's something achievable, but it's not."

"Love is like Bigfoot."

"Did you just compare Bigfoot to love?" Beca laughs in surprise, "Sorry, I've just never had those two things compared to each other, or mentioned in the same sentence, I think."

"It's the belief that counts," the redhead reiterates. "Not whether it exists or not."

"When you say, you'd believe in anything," she starts slowly, "What does that mean?"

Chloe ponders the question for a moment before answering, "It means I believe what I choose to. I believe in Santa, I believe in wishing on shooting stars, I believe in Bigfoot. It's whatever I want to believe in."

"How come you tell me all these private things about you?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure. I guess I trust you."

"How do you know I'm trustworthy?"

"You haven't proved me wrong in doing so," Chloe says, "Sure I've been hurt before but you're not them. And I believe I can trust you."

And Beca thinks she finally gets what Chloe's been trying to say all along. And along with that she understands what she really meant to tell her father, a simple concept, a simple phrase that has eluded her for so long.

_I trusted you and you hurt me_.

That is the point. And that is the only point she has ever been able to see. That is why she doesn't believe in him.

And standing in front of her is this girl who effortlessly has earned her trust with a few words and knowing glances. It's not a spoken trust, she's not entrusted this girl with anything, no secrets or promises, but it's there. Simply because unlike her family who try so hard to fit together and mesh and come together, Chloe doesn't try, she lets things meld by themselves because she believes they will. All her words, all her thoughts, she says them. She is open and so trusting of Beca with her words that she can't help but trust the redhead back.

So maybe she still doesn't believe in love. Maybe she still doesn't believe in her father. Maybe she doesn't believe in Bigfoot either. But she believes, she  _knows_ , that she wants so badly to trust someone.

She's not really thought it through before she lifts up on her toes and leans forward to peck Chloe on the lips quickly.

For the first time since she's met the redhead (all two and a half hours they've spent in each other's company), Chloe looks surprised, "What was that for?"

Somehow Beca's managed to maintain calm and collected on the exterior, "You wanted me to surprise you." On the inside she's panicking.  _Oh God, what if that wasn't okay? Fuck! I didn't think that through. Why are you-_

"Yeah, I did," Chloe smiles, her mouth stretching, and her eyes lighting up. Now Beca understands what Jesse meant about the stars.

"I get it, sort of," she swallows, "The believing part. And the trusting part. Well, no, I don't really get the trusting part. But I want to."

"Chloe!" Benji bursts through the tent, Fat Amy and Jessica already running off in a random direction. "Chloe! He's been sighted! He's been sighted! Bigfoot! Near us, like we have the coordinates, come on!"

The redhead turns towards her friend and waves him on, "Nah, you guys go ahead."

"You sure? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"I'm sure," Chloe says, and as he disappears, she turns to meet Beca's questioning gaze, "Because I've already witnessed something extraordinary today."

"God, that was the cheesiest line ever," Beca laughs.

"You'll have to deal with it while we get coffee," Chloe scribbles something on the back of her hand with a ballpoint pen.

"Coffee?" Beca looks down and sees a phone number. "I'm more of a hot chocolate sorta gal."

"Hot chocolate then," she amends, but as Beca tugs her hand she asks, "What?"

"Let's go see Bigfoot!"

There's only one thing to do. Laugh and follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: Bandit.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel so inclined~


	4. You've Stolen My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set tentatively in the 1500s.

She's not fit for this line of work. Ask anyone, they'll tell you much the same. It's not that she's unaware of it, in fact, quite the opposite. She knows she's too hesitant, too merciful, too morally conscious, too  _kind_. Since when are those bad things? They're perfect qualities in a woman, but not for a bandit. Maybe, that's it; she's a woman, she can't be a great outlaw. Well, that can't be right either, because her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother before her were all successful bandits.

So the problem lies with her. Common knowledge.

_Oh, Chloe, she's the worst kind of brigand out there. A bad one!_

_Yeah, I know L'il Red. She couldn't take candy away from a baby._

_Disgrace to her family, that's what she is._

But this life of thievery, of panic, of ambushing, well it's all she's ever known. There's simple farm folk that pass them by with looks of fear, and Chloe can't help but  _envy_. What it must be like to just wake up each morning taking care of each other and of your livestock, she can only dream.

Everything crashes down around her during the next mission. It's a regular type of thing, they enter a new town and need to strike before their arrival is noticed. Chloe's the perfect type of girl to make inquiries; she has doe eyes and an innocent expression. No one ever suspects that she's a thief and so she can get away with it. From the townspeople she learns that the richest people live in the large manor on the border of the city.

The band of robbers with her is comprised of around twenty people, two of which are her brothers. They quickly layout the simple plan to break and enter Swanson Manor, and also detail briefly their escape routes. Chloe's lumped with Mike and Percy for the back-up team, they're there to ensure that if the others need help, it'll be provided.

On the night of the heist, something feels off about the whole ordeal, but Percy scoffs at her concerns and they're dismissed. Hunched down outside of the manor gates, Chloe feels the dread again, and when she hears a shout from her brother, she's up and running.

"L'il Red! Get back here!"

But she ignores the hissed commands and climbs up over the gate in a few practiced swift motions. Her landing isn't perfect, the impact isn't absorbed by her knees, but it's quiet enough. Chloe speeds through the garden and towards the main door. As she draws near, it bursts open and her brothers shove past her as they flee the building.

"Carl, Corrin, what's wrong?"

"Abort," Corrin yells back and four other members of the break-in group come bustling out as well.

By her calculations they're still missing one person, and so Chloe rushes into the manor, heedless of the warnings. As she reaches the main hall, she realizes what they were running from; ten heavily armed guards surround her, forming a tight circle. They hold their rapiers upright and ready.

"I'm unarmed," Chloe assures them, adjusting the bandana on her head. "See?" She lifts up her arms slowly, palms facing upwards.

"Hold your arms out straight," one of them demands, Chloe pinpoints him as the leader.

She does as he says, and as he moves forward to chain her hands together, she twists under his grasp, using her size to her advantage. Her back is against his chest and with her backwards momentum, Chloe is able to throw his weight over her head and to the ground with a resounding slam.

"Don't move." The guy's rapier is pushed against his neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but a little too loosely. "Now, tell your men to back away."

However, they call her on her bluff and three of the men lunge towards her, the tips of their blades aimed for her exposed body. Chloe is forced to relinquish her hold on their leader to deflect the points away from her. Suddenly, one of them men behind her has gripped her bandana and hair and he lifts her up from the ground easily. Purely on instinct, she lashes out and she feels his grip loosen. Her bandana is still in his hand, but she's gotten free.

"Halt," one of them commands.

Chloe breath catches in her throat and she feels her long hair sweep down and across the back of her neck.

"It's a woman," the leader spits, disgusted. "Those lily-livered cowards send a woman in while they make their escape. Take her in."

As she's about to resist the chains, a loud bellow stops the men.

"Ho, there!" A young man with slicked back brown hair and dark eyes waves them off. "Surely this woman simply got caught up in the fray. I think perhaps we've made a mistake."

He turns to look at her with a soft and knowing look, and Chloe can tell he knows she's one of the bandits. Is he offering her a way out? Yes, he is. It's a look of pity.

"No, thank you," she says to him, without breaking eye contact with the leader of the armed forces. "I am in a dishonest line of work perhaps, but I am not a dishonest person. I am a thief. I was one of those that conspired to infiltrate your manor tonight."

"Very well," the man sighs, "Take her in then."

"Yes, Master Swanson."

This time as they cuff her, Chloe lets them. There's nothing left for her to do or say. She has preserved her own dignity and made her last stand. A glimmer of regret remains and she knows anyone else would have taken the easy way out. But she is not them.

* * *

Prison is not so bad, surprisingly. Upon request from the Swanson family she was separated from the male inmates and given a cell for herself. There's a guaranteed two meals a day for her and it's safer than roaming around the countryside looking for slim pickings. Once in awhile a guard walks by informing her of when she is due for trial. They sneer at her, but they never touch her or linger too long. Chloe's familiar with the horror stories about being captured, but so far, really it's not so bad.

Sure, the walls and floor are downright grimy, and there's a permanent stench of urine and vomit, but she can't really complain. Some of the other prisoners leer at her and make rude gestures, so she keeps her eyes downcast, hoping it will deter them. After a few weeks, she feels a little claustrophobic, and more than a little insane. Her thoughts are always trained on her brothers and her friends. No use thinking about them here though.

A week after her arrest a guard unlocks her door and gesture for her to follow him.

"Come," he rasps impatiently after she hesitates.

"It's not time for my trial yet," she has to clear her throat a few times before the dryness subsides.

"You're not getting a trial," he tells her, with all the casualness of a daily stroll.

Her heart drops, "Oh," and everything whooshes out of her in a sigh. It's what a criminal deserves, she supposes.

The guard pushes her out of the front door to the jailhouse and her eyes strain against the bright sunlight. A public execution to make an example of her, perhaps?

"Here you go, Sir. One irredeemable filthy thief, just like you asked," he says with venom coloring his tone.

"I didn't ask for your judgment," a vaguely familiar voice snipes back.

"I apologize, Sir," the guard replies, chastised.

Finally, Chloe's eyes manage to adjust to the rediscovered brightness of day and she can make out the blurry outline of Master Swanson. The confusion seeps away and she laughs, half-crazed. Her laughter reaches an audible volume and the two men turn to look at her. On some level she knows how off her rocker she seems, but she can't control it. She laughs harder and higher.

"What have you done to her?"

"N-Nothing!"

Firm hands grip her shoulders rubbing in a soothing way, but it does nothing to calm her. Master Swanson sighs heavily before guiding her to his carriage, and she sobers up a bit, her laughing down to an occasional giggle. He props her up on one side, and sits opposite to her.

After a quiet examination for half of the trip, Master Swanson speaks up, "Do you have a name?"

Chloe takes a ragged breath before looking up at him, eyes shining, "They call me Little Red."

"I have paid in full to pardon your crimes," he says, clearly expecting something in return.

"I won't thank you for this."

"And why not?"

She looks out the small window in the carriage, noting the way the trees blur past, distorted. "Because you have done this out of pity."

"I have done this out of empathy," he insists, reaching a tentative hand out to touch her hand. "You are not a bad person. As a woman it is easy to become stuck in a lifestyle."

"And what would you know about being a woman? Or being stuck in a lifestyle?"

"For someone whose life has most likely just been saved, you're incredibly ungrateful," Master Swanson snorts.

"Who said I wanted to be saved?"

At that, the young man's brow furrows and he considers her words for a moment before replying, "Do you want me to take you back to the prison, then?"

"Do whatever you'd like," Chloe dismisses, and turns her attention back to the outside nature. "I would not pretend to hold agency over you."

"Think this over, Ms. Red," Master Swanson requests, "You attempted to rob me and my family of something that is rightfully ours. I offered you a way out, something you declined at the time, and now I have allowed you another opportunity. I, a mere stranger, have rescued you from a very public demise."

"Make no mistake, Mr. Swanson," she starts.

"Jesse," he cuts in. "Please, call me Jesse. I am far too young to be referred to as Mr. Swanson."

"Jesse," Chloe allows, "You are a good man, I know this. But you have meddled with fate today. I am a criminal and there is only one such ending for me."

"Perhaps this is fate. You are being offered another chance now. By me, by God."

Chloe is startled into a chuckle, "And can you claim to know what God has planned for me?"

"I do not say that I know God," Jesse says with a lick of his lips, "But I think you are a better person than you think, Ms. Red. There is much good in this world to be had, and to be done."

"Are you giving me my freedom, then?"

"Yes. And I am offering you a job in my manor."

"Ha! And pray tell, what is this job you offer? Would you like me to steal something for you, Sir?" She mocks him openly.

"You need not be abrasive with me, Ms. Red, for I have only one intention. I wish to see you happy."

"Very well," Chloe relinquishes her bandit façade and slips back into a reserved posture. "What would you have me do?"

Jesse leans back, his head hitting the wall of the carriage, "One of our maids has recently relocated to the countryside with her new husband. There is an opening, if you so wish it."

"And I am to believe you are doing this all out of pity?"

"I have taken a liking to you, Ms. Red," he lets a small smile grace his features for a moment before returning to a stony faced mask. "Your joy is mine."

"How much was paid to pardon my crimes?" It's a rude question, too direct, too daring, but she's beyond that now.

"Enough."

"Well, I will work for you as long as it takes to absolve my debt."

"Excellent," Jesse chimes with a rather boyish grin, and Chloe can see his true age for a moment; young and hopeful.

* * *

Life at the Swanson Manor takes some adjusting to. There are many rules, things that Chloe has never imagined of, wiping shoes, removing gloves, dusting behind vases. It's as close to a domestic life that she has ever been, and for that she is grateful to Jesse. It's calm and safe and consistent.

In the mornings she wakes up as the sun begins to rise and helps to dress and bathe the mistress of the house (Jesse's mother). Then she heads off with two other maids to bring out breakfast for the family (Jesse, his sister, and his frail mother). After breakfast, she has cleaning duties on the second floor of the mansion; there's always something that needs to be dusted. Depending on the day, she might head into town for fresh meat and spices, but if not, she serves the old matron some tea. The lunch break is usually long enough for her to eat out in the garden and savor the scent of blooming flowers. Afternoon is a dreary experience of standing dutifully at the door of Jesse's study, in case he needs something. By the time night falls, she serves dinner to the family and later prepares Jesse's younger sister for bed. After she's fallen asleep, Chloe brings some tea to Jesse's study where he absentmindedly thanks her and sends her on her way. She then cleans the kitchen and then heads to the maids quarters for rest. The next day: rinse and repeat.

Maybe it's not exactly as wonderful as she had expected, but she's content for the first time in a long while. That is something Chloe can get used to.

It only figures this feeling is not fated to last.

* * *

The irony of her situation does not escape her.

So this is what it feels like to have somewhere you considered safe utterly violated. To feel jarred back into the dangers of reality, instead of living in that little bubble where everything is set in stone routine.

Chloe is a crook. Two months of clean living can't wash that out of her. Nothing can change that. It is who she is. As a thief, of course she's heard of the Blood Moon gang, the most infamous and feared bandits of the kingdom. Oh, she knows that they have earned every single bit of their reputation. And as a thief, it's only instinct that when the Blood Moon gang comes to ransack the Swanson Mansion, Chloe swipes a few valuables and makes for a sneaky exit.

Oh, but she's not just a thief. She's a  _terrible_  one at that. A swooping figure leaps and blocks her path with a graceful landing.

"Clever," the person says, a woman, Chloe realizes in shock. "Not clever enough, but you're getting there."

"I was here on a stakeout," Chloe finds herself saying, her heart racing with panic. "I am no match for the Blood Moon. I merely thought to let those more experienced than I to take the floor."

"How can you tell we're Blood Moon?"

"The silver cross tattoos on the other guys' wrists."

The woman adjusts her facemask and says, "Well, I can't risk it, you know. Gonna have to ask you to come with us."

"The city's militia will be here soon," Chloe informs her smartly, still trying to find a way out of this, "You wouldn't want me to slow you down, would you?"

"You're fast enough on your feet," the woman makes a sound reminiscent of a laugh. "Come, or I'll cut your fingers off."

Chloe swallows and suddenly notices two other cloaked and hooded figures behind her.

"Okay," she says. And the two people behind her escort her out of the mansion.

* * *

The Blood Moon certainly live up to what she's heard. They've ransacked the mansion in a matter of minutes, taken everything of worth, and have cleared the house of any survivors. The only prisoners they've taken are her, another maid, Jesse, and his sister. What this must mean for the elderly matron, well, Chloe sees tear streaks down Jesse's face.

For the first time, she's one of the so-called "victims", instead of the "perpetrator". Well, it's an awful feeling. Worse than getting captured and thrown in prison. Because at least then, she could claim to knowing what she had coming for her, but now, now she feels entirely powerless.

From across the campsite the Blood Moon have made (far away from the mansion, wisely), Chloe watches as the woman from before approaches Jesse, chained and bloody. Judging by the rest of the gang's reaction, the woman seems to be a leader of sorts, which intrigues Chloe all the more.

"I will give you two options, Master Swanson," the woman says. "Because you look like a trustworthy man." Jesse doesn't reply, he barely stirs at her words. "I can either kill you now and forever guarantee your silence. Or, I can send you back on your way home, allowing you time and the necessary aid to get back on your feet."

There's a mumbled jumble of words in reply, which he repeats, louder and more clearly. "Pray tell, what is the catch?"

"Your profits, 45% go to us."

"Are you ins-"

"Ah," she presses a finger against his mouth. "I will send you on your way home, but I will keep your sister and your two lovely maids that tried to make an escape."

Jesse turns to look at his sister and then in turn, the other maid, and then Chloe. His gaze lingers on Chloe the longest, with a faint look of disappointment. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you will have forced my hand," the Blood Moon woman says, shrugging, "I will have to kill you, and then the fate of these three lovely ladies will never be known to you."

"Are you keeping them for insurance?"

"After the first yearly payment, I will send your two maids home," she points at Chloe and the other maid. "And then, on your second yearly payment, I will send your dear sister home."

"And on the third year?"

"You know what will happen if you refuse us after we have shown such mercy to you."

Jesse chokes on his tears and Chloe feels something stir within her. Perhaps, the Swanson Manor was not home, but it's the closest she ever had as one.

"Mercy? Clearly, you have no idea the definition of such a word." The moment the words leave her mouth, Chloe shrinks back a little. In almost perfect unison, the Blood Moon's members whip their heads around to look at her.

"Don't," Jesse protests weakly.

The woman pulls her facemask a little tighter before sauntering over to her side of the camp. "Is it not mercy?"

"You have taken innocent lives today," Chloe persists, wrenching against her restraints. "You have plundered and it is enough to do so, but to take a life, an elderly and defenseless woman. That, you have no right to."

"Hypocrite," the woman sneers as she catches a hold of Chloe's hair and pulls sharply upwards, exposing the redhead's neck. "You're Red's daughter, aren't you?"

"H-How do you know?"

"Your neck tattoo, your hair, your temper, your attempts to talk your way out of everything," she lists off, "Oh, add to the fact that your brothers have been everywhere looking for you."

"They are?"

The woman nods, relinquishing her hold, "Offering a handsome reward as well, I hear."

"Then why have you shackled me? Why are you using me against Master Swanson?"

She shrugs again, as if it's no importance, "I wanted to see how long until you cracked."

"You are a monster," Chloe whispers, "Frighteningly so."

"Shut up, wench!" One of the men behind her hollers, "You are speaking to the most famous and renowned bandit alive!"

"As if that's something to be proud of!"

The woman laughs loudly this time, surprising everyone in the camp. "Unshackle her." When her men hesitate, the woman yells, "Unshackle her!" Finally, they scramble to their feet to obey her. Chloe rubs her raw wrists as they remove the cuffs and chains. "Come with me," the woman says, and Chloe has no choice but to do so.

Chloe follows the woman into the largest tent, and the woman bandit waves off the rest of her men.

"Do you have a name, Red's daughter?"

"They call me Little Red," she says, still massaging her sore wrists.

The woman turns sharply on her heel and tugs on her arm until she slouches down onto the floor. Swiftly, the woman uncaps a jar of foul smelling ointment and gingerly applies it to her wrist. At first it causes a stinging sensation on her skin making Chloe hiss in pain, but it gradually numbs to a relieving healing feeling.

"And what do you call yourself?"

Chloe looks up, baffled. "Chloe."

"Nice name," the woman hums as she pulls tenderly at Chloe's leg, until the redhead extends it.

As she applies ointment to Chloe's chaffed kneecaps and ankles, Chloe can't help but ask, "And you?"

"They call me Midnight," the woman says, and Chloe's heard that name for so many years. The greatest bandit alive, the cleverest thief, the sharpest crook, the uncatchable criminal, the ruthless villain. To think, a woman, the best rogue to grace this land.

"And what do you call yourself?"

She chuckles, "Beca. But no one calls me that anymore."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Why not?" Beca looks at her through narrowed eyes. "I am the leader of the Blood Moon, am I not? I can do as I please."

It strikes Chloe suddenly how short and small Beca is without the intimidating cloak. "Then would you show me your face?"

Beca hesitates, the first time Chloe has seen her done so, before saying, "Many have asked before you, all greater men and women than you, and I have agreed to none of them."

"And how do you measure greatness?"

"By their wits, their intelligence, their astuteness for knowing how to make it in this world," Beca replies, "The King I would even praise as a great man."

"I would not," Chloe says boldly, her chin jutted out in disagreement.

"Well, I suppose not," Beca thoughtfully whispers, as she moves to Chloe's other leg. "He is like your temporary master out there."

"Why do you hate him?"

"Master Swanson?"

"And his kind," Chloe briefly elaborates.

Beca laughs, flipping her hood down, revealing her tied up wavy brunette hair. "They come into this world and are fortunate. They do not need any skill, or any intelligence, or any sort of charisma. They are born with the simple luck of having wealthy and powerful parents. And allowing them to keep that power, to keep that wealth, well I simply won't have it."

"So you take from them?"

"Yes."

As Beca's fingers graze over a bruise on her left calf, Chloe winces and gasps, "I think you do it for the fame and the power. You're just rationalizing it."

"Perhaps," Beca admits, "You see, I am an orphan. I have no siblings, no parents, no other family. Maybe this is why I long for a legacy. I want to be remembered. I want it so that people will try to forget my name, but will be unable to. And they will all know, that no matter the station you are given in life, you can transcend it."

"Is that really justification to ruin others lives?"

"As I recall, you're not the perfect angel either, are you, Chloe?"

"Do you know how many men and women you have killed?"

"That is called avoiding the question," the brunette informs her with a smug tone. "But how many I have killed personally? I don't make a note of it."

Chloe looks her dead in the eyes and whispers, "I do. I have killed exactly two people in my entire life. And I will never forget them."

"And what did they do to deserve their deaths?" Beca asks her coolly.

"Nothing," the redhead says, with a faraway look. "The first was an accident. It was mayhem during the fire we set, and he ran towards me, trying to extinguish the flames engulfing his back, and I turned, my sword in hand." Her voice breaks off. "The second time, I meant it. It was worse, a man latched onto my leg during a heist, and I warned him, but he didn't let go. So I had to."

"You're in the wrong line of work, Little Red," Beca snorts, "If you're looking to be compassionate, you'll never make it."

"Oh, I know," Chloe says, "I've heard that all my life. And up until two months ago, I didn't think there was a life for me outside of it. But you're right, I can improve my station."

"Join me," Beca says suddenly. "Join the Blood Moon. You might not be a great thief, but you're an excellent talker."

"Did you not hear a word I said?"

"Listen, Chloe," the brunette sighs heavily, "As women, we don't have much say in our lives mostly. We're expected to keep our heads down, to obey men. I had to fight tooth and nail to get where I am today. Every ounce of respect was earned with blood and sweat. But I love this life, because I get to be free. I can do anything."

"It enslaves you!" Chloe raises her voice, "You find yourself moving from place to place to avoid capture, you can never get too attached to anyone, because it means death. You are not free, Beca."

"Just…join me," she insists, as she grips Chloe's wrist gently. "For a few weeks. If you hate it, I will let Master Swanson off the hook and his sister and his maid, and you can be on your way."

Chloe pauses and thinks. "I won't let you manipulate me."

"It isn't a manipulation," Beca swears, "Fuck, I swear. I can do whatever I want, right? Well, I'm asking you to stay."

"Why do you want me to stay? I called you a monster."

"Because I'm bored of the same old people here. I want something new."

She laughs humorlessly and tells the brunette, "I refuse to be your plaything."

"Okay," Beca tries one last time, "You're interesting. It's not very often you find a fellow woman in this business. I want to get to know you. I want to understand you. And I want to change your mind, about me being a monster."

"I will stay for two weeks, and after that, you must let Jesse, his sister, and the other woman go. You must also promise my freedom, from you, and from my brothers."

"I swear on my honor as a bandit," Beca says solemnly.

* * *

As promised, Beca releases Jesse, his sister, and the maid, and they leave. Jesse looks back at them one last time, before continuing on the path back to his ransacked mansion.

It's not too different from her regular life pre-arrest. Everything's a lot more efficient, a lot more fast-paced, but when they have down time, it becomes raucous and everything comes to life. They party hard, sloshing alcohol, dancing jigs, belting out random songs, strumming on lutes.

Beca is the loudest, the happiest, the one most alive in these instances. She drinks the most, parties the hardest, and Chloe can feel the flame of her existence brushing against reality, setting everything on fire.

"Come on!"

Chloe resists the first three days, but on the fourth day, she lets a smile make its way onto her face. So she complies and takes Beca's hand. And they dance, hand in hand, what is traditionally a dance between two males, but Chloe forgets herself in the beating of the drum, the echoing voices, Beca's smile.

The rest of the Blood Moon cheer them on, stamping their beat and clapping. When Beca hands her a drink, Chloe laughs and toasts her.

Beca leans in close and yells something in her ear. Over all the commotion, Chloe loses the exact words, but she thinks she can make out what the other woman has said.

_I would kill to hear that laugh every day_.

* * *

The next day is spent wearily fleeing from a pack of wolves that injure four of the Blood Moon members. As Chloe tends to their wounds, she learns a little more about them. Benji, a sweet man with the innocent look of a lamb, comes from a region far away, but was forced to come here in servitude and only escaped with Midnight's help. Donald, a strangely foreign looking man, comes from a land across the ocean in search of riches, but had only found a desolate disease-ridden city and joined up with the Blood Moon. Tom and Luke, brothers and both extraordinarily handsome, are from around here, but they lost their parents to a fire, and turned to a life of thievery to support themselves.

All in all, they seem content with what they have now. It surprises Chloe more than it should, since she's heard all these kinds of stories from her own band of misfits.

What she really wants to know, is the story behind their leader. What would possess a woman to have that sort of bravery…that insanity, to build an empire like this? Guts. That's the word.

* * *

They spend two more days relocating until they find a relatively safe location, Beca nodding wearily as the scouts report back to her. The celebration is more subdued this time around, there's still alcohol and music, but less singing and cheering, and no dancing.

It feels like a somber funeral.

When someone stumbles into her tent, Chloe pulls at her dagger and nearly slices their throat.

"Midnight?"

"My bad," Beca slurs, obviously incredibly drunk. She tries to regain her footing, but slips and falls back onto Chloe's makeshift bed.

"It's alright," Chloe sighs, "Stay."

"Raid tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know," the redhead says, reluctantly lying down next to the brunette. "It seems like you guys need it."

"Why d'you say that?"

"It's like a victory, isn't it? Like you've won something. It keeps the morale high."

"It's all we're worth, Little Red." If Chloe couldn't smell the alcohol reeking from Beca's breath, she'd have thought that Beca sounded surprisingly sober.

"The more you tell yourself that, the more it becomes true."

Beca sighs, "I want the world to remember me. This is what I'm good at."

"How did you know you'd be good at it?"

"I got lucky," she whispers, rolling a little closer to Chloe. "I grew up on the streets. You gotta steal if you're gonna make it alone." She draws in a ragged breath, "Got caught a few times, it happens, but you learn. You get better, you get smarter, you get wiser. You grow up a lot faster. As I got older, the punishments got harsher, 'cause when you're young they have pity, when you're not young anymore, nothing. So, I wanted to become something."

"And so you made Blood Moon?"

"Donald, Bumper, and I," Beca says, "We started it together. Nobody gives a damn lick about you in this world, and that worked to our advantage. Not many people were willing to serve under a woman, but I quickly made a name by being the best, the most ruthless. Now, we've got people tryna join by the dozens. It was hard in the beginning, we nearly starved to death most of the time."

"Then why continue doing it?"

"All I ever known, Chloe. You know what it's like, you start and you have to keep doin' it. All these guys rely on me, and they're family. After all those years alone, I finally have a family."

"I was wrong," Chloe laughs quietly. "You're not a monster, Beca. It's just a lonely world."

"I'm not really that drunk," Beca admits finally after a long silence, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Then just talk to me."

* * *

The raid is successful, although Chloe never really doubted they would fail. Their intricate yet simple plans are genius and account for every small detail. As she watches Beca outline the specificities, she traces over Beca's posture and eyes, and is amazed at the intensity of everything the brunette puts into her work. Her qualms of Beca's method aside, watching her work is like watching some force of nature, a hurricane, or a flood. On one hand she is in awe of how devastating and destructive it is, but on the other hand she's completely enraptured by it.

The subsequent two days are spent finding a relatively low-danger area to sell the loot. As a leader, Beca is fearsome and demanding, but also manages to soften enough for her men to know that she is only human. That she is vulnerable in a way that they can still never touch.

And that vulnerability that shines in Beca's eyes is what disarms Chloe completely. When Beca turns to her with that hesitant look, and asks her if she's decided whether to stay or not, Chloe in turn wavers as well.

"I believe I have five more days, Midnight."

"Beca," the brunette murmurs, "When it's just us like this, please, call me Beca."

"Beca, you know I don't belong here," Chloe comfortingly touches the back of Beca's hand. "This is your family. I need to find mine."

"Are you going back to your brothers?"

"No, not that family."

"Swanson?"

"No."

"Then who?"

Chloe shrugs, "I haven't found my little niche in this world yet, but I want to find it. And wandering around with you, pretending I fit in here, I can't."

"Then, I'm holding you back," Beca says after a long silent consideration. "Like Swanson."

"I would've left Jesse anyway, my debt would've been paid off within a few more months."

"He wouldn't let you go," the brunette says, completely sure.

"Why not?"

"The man is in love with you, Chloe."

It's an absurd notion, and she laughs accordingly, "No, he isn't."

"Either way," Beca pauses, that damn hesitation again. "You need to find your family, your place in the world. I'm keeping you from it."

"Are you letting me go? Before the two weeks is up?"

"Yes."

"I said two weeks, and I will stay two weeks."

Beca stands up, drawing her cape close to herself. "No. Leave before I change my mind, and try to keep you here. If you say you will stay two weeks, I will want you to stay longer."

"Doesn't matter," Chloe maintains, "Even if you try to stop me, I will still leave, one way or another, when my two weeks are up."

"Just go!" Beca's voice breaks. "You know too much. Okay. That's the truth. Someone who knows the Blood Moon's inner workings as well as you do would never be allowed to leave. You have to be killed, but I can't. I can't do that. So leave please, before Bumper or Donald decides it's for the best."

"Okay," she assures her. "I'll go then."

"Thank you."

"You're not a monster, Beca. You're so much more," Chloe tells her genuinely with a hug.

"I just don't want the world to forget me," Beca says, her neck straining, as she looks away. "Now go. I wish you luck, Chloe."

"Farewell."

* * *

Chloe settles into a small town not too far from her hometown and she goes through a list of tried occupations until she reaches one that she is satisfied with. She works as a healer, for the common ailments, and also tries her hand at some of the more deadly diseases. Her work is met with varied degrees of success, but it's like Midnight said. You try and you fail, but you learn.

It's a medium-sized village, so she gains a fast reputation there as the mysterious healer. There's talk that she hears.

_Beautiful, but tight-lipped. She's had a line of suitors so long, they practically had a small village there._

_Chloe? She's our town's healer. A miracle worker._

_Witchcraft I tell you._

And yes, she's had many suitors knocking on her door, but after she's met Jesse, so kind and gentle, and Beca, indescribably the most amazing thing she's ever witnessed, no one can compare. She wants to tell them,  _I have met a woman so fierce, so incredibly strong and brilliant, the greatest thief in the world. You cannot match up to that._

Instead, she keeps her silence.

Some nights, she stares at the flickering candle and she wonders.

* * *

Perhaps a year later, she hears from Jesse, who sends a foot messenger inquiring to her health. She sends him back claiming the foot messenger has found the wrong woman.

Not too long afterwards, an unexpected person arrives at her door.

It must be midday when a dark cloaked and hooded person stumbles into her hut, clutching a wound. There's a bit of blood, but nothing she's not used to. Chloe scrambles to clear her table and lays the person down gently before looking for a cloth to stop the bleeding.

"C-Chloe," the person on the table croaks.

She swings around and cautiously pulls the hood down to expose wavy brunette hair stained with sweat and blood.

"Beca?"

"It's nothing serious," she says.

"Did you stumble around with this stab wound hoping to run into me?" Maybe she's being arrogant, but it simply cannot be a coincidence.

Beca laughs, but then chokes in pain, "Well, I was on my way here already, and then got stabbed. It wasn't planned, Little Red."

As Chloe patches her up, gingerly cleaning the wound, she asks, "Why were you looking for me?"

"Because I can't forget you," Beca says. "I've had people who have been with me for years and they're family now, but you, you became family to me in one short week. And I don't forget people who are family."

"Beca, what are you saying?"

"Come with me, please?"

"With the Blood Moon?" She nods and Chloe's breath catches in her breath, "I can't. I've finally found my place in this world."

"You can be a healer on the road with us. We get hurt enough that we need one."

"You remember I told you I have killed two men in my life?" Beca nods again in confirmation. "For the longest time afterwards, I felt like I always had blood on my hands. No matter how many times I washed them, I never felt clean. Now, I heal. I fix people who live simple lives. And now I finally feel clean. Even when I am covered in blood, I feel clean, knowing that I am healing. The Blood Moon's purpose is to destroy. I can't do that. Not again."

"I said, I don't want the world to forget me when we were saying our goodbyes-"

"Yes, I remember."

"What I meant was, I don't want you to forget me."

"What are you saying?"

Beca laughs incredulously, "I need you. With me. I want to be with you."

"You don't know me."

"But you understand me," Beca says, dark eyes looking up at her. "Many great men and women have asked to see my face, and I refused them all. But now, I finally accept your request, because you are the greatest person I have ever met." She pulls down her facemask and lets it fall to the ground.

Chloe swallows, understanding the importance of this gift, and she lets her eyes drink in the sight before her. Beca is beautiful in every sense of the word. Her sharp angular features are softened by the sloping of her jaw and her skin is smooth and porcelain. She finds her hands cupping the other woman's face.

"Thank you. This is the greatest gift anyone could ever give me. Trust." Then she hesitates, "I can't, though. I can't give up my place in the world for you. Anything else, and I could. And I could never ask you to give up yours."

"What if, I could convince Blood Moon to change our purpose. We could steal from the rich and give to the poor! Help all those kids who were like us, who are like everyone who has ever had to thieve."

"That's insane," Chloe laughs through her tears. "Insane."

"Is it? Isn't life insane, though? Why can't we try?"

"You're serious?"

"As ever."

So she nods, her red curls bouncing, "Okay."

Beca presses a light kiss to her forehead, "And the world will never forget us. Because we are both something."

* * *

_Present Day_

"The end."

"That's it?"

Chloe looks at her son sternly, "I said one story."

"But that wasn't an ending!"

"It was a beginning," she says, ruffling his hair as he whines. "And I think that is a mighty fine ending."

"Mighty fine, really, Chloe?" Beca looks at her wife amused. "You're really getting into the story."

"Mom, you were like Robin Hood!"

"Where do you think they got the inspiration for Robin Hood?"

Her son looks perplexed at this, "You mean he was a girl?"

"He wore tights, David." Chloe stifles a laugh and hugs the two of them close to her.

"Mommy, is that true?"

Chloe shrugs, holding Beca's hand, and she kisses his forehead, "The best stories must come from somewhere."

This, without a doubt, is her family. Her place in the world **.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: French.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel so inclined.


	5. French Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not a fluent French speaker, so all mistakes are inadvertent, and I apologize in advance.

Life works in funny ways sometimes. A cancelled flight isn't a rare occurrence at the Los Angeles International Airport, in fact, some might claim it's quite common. But such single events, so out of our control, can affect the course of our lives forever. It is quite like being swept away by a strong current and finding yourself washed upon a beautiful sandy shore.

* * *

Beca sighs heavily. Being stranded at the airport is not how she had envisioned her start to summer vacation. Her flight to Heathrow in London has been cancelled and she's too far from her mom's house in Oregon to head back there. So she's left with the option of shacking up in a hotel until tomorrow when the next available flight will be flying out.

It's quite a packed flight, so a large number of people are trailing towards nearby hotels. Beca watches the biggest group of people march towards the Hilton and she automatically turns the other way, wishing to keep away from crowds. The next nearest hotel is the Marriot and she figures it's as good as she can afford.

As she checks in, Beca can feel her stomach growling in protest at her negligence of lunch. The hotel clerk, Jesse, informs her that there's a restaurant down the west wing and she (and her stomach) thank him.

Since the rest of the restaurant is kind of empty, she sits down at the bar. The menu isn't very good, but she settles on a BLT burger with a side of fries and a diet Coke. Just as her food has arrived someone takes a seat beside her.

"Excuse?" The stranger, a woman with beautiful red hair and shining blue eyes, directs her question at Beca, with a slight lilt.

"Hm?"

The woman hesitates as the bartender comes over to take her order and mumbles to herself, "Comment pouvez-vous dire…?"

Also at a loss for words, he looks at Beca, who shrugs in response and continues chewing on her fries slowly. The woman furrows her brow and digs through her purse looking for something.

"Can I get you anything, m'am?" The bartender asks her politely.

She looks up at him, a bit startled and then looks at Beca's burger. She points at the burger and answers resolutely, "That. This."

Even though it's fairly clear to Beca what the woman is trying to convey, the bartender apparently isn't the brightest bulb. He scratches his head, at a loss for words.

"Get her the same thing you got me," Beca finally speaks up. "Don't think her English goes beyond that."

He grunts and leaves to place her order.

"Merci," the woman beams at her, revealing a toothy grin.

Beca's not an expert at French, in fact her proficiency with it doesn't go much farther than the very basics, but thank you is luckily one of the simplest phrases.

"Chloe," the woman says, pointing at herself with one hand and offering her other hand in introduction. Beca looks the woman up and down, she's dressed casually with cargo shorts and a blue tank top.

The brunette quirks her mouth, curious that she's trying to hold a conversation with someone who probably doesn't understand most of what she's saying, "Beca."

"Tu es belle," Chloe comments nonchalantly, focusing her full attention on the other woman. Now, Beca doesn't know what that means, but she can decipher the playful glint in the redhead's eyes. This woman is possibly flirting with her?

"Je ne parle pas français," Beca says, cringing at her own heavy American accent, as her tongue trips over the practiced words.

But her terrible French seems to have paid off, because Chloe laughs, amused by the display. The bartender arrives with Chloe's burger and places the plate in front of her as she repeats a thanks, the word rolling off her tongue effortlessly. And damn, Beca's never understood the emphasis on French being the language of love, but now,  _Jesus Christ,_  she understands the appeal. It's sexy in a way she can't fathom.

A moan escapes Chloe's mouth as she sinks her teeth into the burger and she closes her mouth with a squeak, one hand covering as she chews. The easy sexuality the French woman exudes doesn't escape Beca's notice, and everything that she does makes her seem more and more appealing.

"Good?"

Chloe smirks at her, "Peut mieux faire."

"I'm going to assume that means it's great," she laughs, finishing what's left of her fries. There's a bit of an awkward silence that Chloe seems oblivious to, continuing to eat her food with zest.

The French woman winks at her as she continues chewing. "C'est délicieux."

It's near enough to the English equivalent of "delicious" for Beca to nod in understanding, a small grin on her face.

"So why are you in L.A.?"

Chloe shrugs to convey that she doesn't understand the question, and then proceeds to pull out a notepad and pen from her purse and offers it to Beca.

"Oh, you want me to write it down? Or draw it?" Beca presses the tip of the ballpoint pen firmly to the paper before drawing a rough sketch of the Hollywood sign next to a question mark.

"Pourquoi suis-je ici? Ah, pour vous," the redheaded woman smiles roguishly as she points at her and Beca flushes without any real reason. "You? Hollywood?"

"Oh, and me? Flight cancelled," she answers, and sketches a rough drawing of a plane before x-ing it out.

Abruptly, Chloe places her hand casually over Beca's, fingers dragging over the back of her hand. There's a moment of deliberation before she speaks, "You," she waves her hands in a circular motion as she is unable to find the words to express her thoughts. Then an idea sparks in her mind as Chloe's eyes brighten and she mimes the motion of drawing with her right hand, "Good."

The insanely slow pace of the conversation surprisingly doesn't annoy her, in fact, it's kind of nice. Usually Beca has to think about what to say, or what not to say, and in most cases, find random things to say to either prolong the conversation or end it quickly.

"Merci," she replies to Chloe's delight.

It's as if personal boundaries aren't really a thing to this woman. She intertwines her fingers with Beca's like it's a totally normal thing to do. Maybe she can feel the hesitance rolling off the brunette in waves because she moves her fingers deftly to gently pry the pen out of Beca's stiff fingers. Chloe doesn't say anything, but looks into her eyes seriously, asking permission.

"Yes?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Beca acquiesces, to what, she's not exactly sure. Her question is answered when Chloe pulls Beca's arm into her lap and she presses the ballpoint carefully down onto Beca's skin. For some reason the sensation seems rather intimate. The redhead hums a sweet song as she works on drawing on Beca's arm and Beca tries her best not to squirm at the slightly ticklish feeling.

"Car? Kite? Beach?" She's twisting her neck trying to figure out what exactly the other woman is drawing. "Cat?"

"Patience."

A few minutes later, Chloe leans back, satisfied with the final result. As Beca retracts her arm so that she can see the drawing from the right side, she can see the intricacies of what looks to be an eagle.

"America, yes," Chloe traces the outline with the pads of her fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

"It's very pretty," she whispers in awe, "You also draw well."

Maybe the words don't make sense entirely, but Chloe's eyes shine with appreciation.

Beca feels she's overstayed her welcome though, and leaves a twenty folded neatly under her cup. She stands and turns to the redheaded woman, offering a smile, "It was nice meeting you."

As she's turned away and about to walk out, Chloe reaches out, fingers curling around her wrist. It's such a surprise, Beca nearly jerks her arm away in reflex.

"Later," Chloe whispers throatily, pulling out two keycards and placing one in Beca's palm.

The brunette swallows in shock from the other woman's boldness. Maybe it's a French thing? Or maybe she's misinterpreting the whole situation? She looks up questioningly.

As if sensing her inner turmoil, Chloe leans in closer to her, tongue flickering out to wet her lips. Her blue eyes darken with intent and she stands so that she's at her full height, looking slightly down at Beca. Her fingers leave Beca's wrist and come down to play with the hem of her shirt.

"Later," she repeats, sensually, and then she brings Beca's hand up to brush her lips over her knuckles. A small action for sure, but Beca can feel her heartbeat quicken.

The redhead finishes with a dazzling smile before turning back to sit down at the bar leaving Beca a bit bewildered.

But she quickly remembers her location and her feet pick up and take her towards her hotel room. She leaves with a faint trace of a smirk.

* * *

The situation is so full of intrigue; a beautiful and possibly older foreign woman taking interest in her. Surely it's a set up? Perhaps she's been faking the language barrier? Maybe it's for a reality TV series?

There's a million reasons for her to say no, but Beca is stuck on the yes.

_Room 525_

Well, now's the time to find out. Spontaneity has never really been her thing, but Chloe doesn't know her, so maybe, just maybe she can pull this off with her dignity intact. Her fist thuds solidly against the white door.

"Hi," the door swings open to reveal Chloe wearing a sly expression.

"Hi."

Chloe's gaze pierce hers and it makes her feel a bit unhinged. This isn't a good idea. Not a good one at all.

"Entrez," Chloe sweeps her arm in an arc.

The room is quite like her own with a few minor differences; the couch is facing towards the window instead of away from it and the bathroom is at the left of the entrance instead of the right. As the two of them settle onto the couch, her nerves get the better of her.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," she confesses, avoiding the redhead's eyes, embarrassed at her awkwardness. Chloe doesn't respond right away and when the silence has dragged on for a suffocating length of time, Beca looks up. The unwavering blue steadies her a bit and Chloe reaches out to rest a hand on her knee, delicately.

Whispering in French, Chloe draws closer to Beca slowly. The mumbling is rather soothing and Beca lets the other woman's left hand reach out and coast across her cheek. Chloe doesn't break eye contact with Beca the entire time, the focus intensely burning into her, and Beca hasn't felt this vulnerable in a long time. Finally, they are face to face, so close that she can feel Chloe's even breath fanning against her own lips.

"Yes?"

"Okay," her head bobs in a slight nod. Her heart jolts right before their lips touch, the electricity coursing through her body and leaving a tingling in her fingertips. When Chloe's mouth presses against hers it knocks the nervousness right out of her and she finds herself growing bold, and kisses the woman right back. It doesn't last more than a few seconds, but it seems to stretch for minutes. As Chloe pulls away, Beca finds herself nearly pitching forward in an attempt to keep the physical contact.

The redhead giggles, but Beca's face is already flushed.

"Vin?" She accepts the offered glass as Chloe pops open a bottle of, what looks to be, champagne. Gracefully, she pours a generous amount for both of them and sets the bottle down on the table. Repositioning herself on the couch, Chloe crosses her legs and looks at Beca expectantly. A bit self-conscious at the inspecting look, Beca toasts her and sips the wine cautiously.

The two of them simply survey each other as they continue drinking. At some point, Beca realizes alcohol is just what she needs, a gradual numbing takes over her mind and buzzes pleasantly.

"You're stunning," Beca lets slip before she can pause to think about the implications.

"Stunning?"

"Beautiful."

"Belle," Chloe shyly smiles in understanding.

Taking the chance, Beca leans in for another kiss.

And maybe this isn't the best idea, but it's summer vacation and that's got to count for something.

* * *

Her eyes flicker open sometime in the early hours of the morning as the sun has just begun to rise, radiating warm reds and oranges. At first there's a blurry edge to her sight, but a clarity takes over shortly. Beca examines her surroundings, the large bed covered in messy white sheets, Chloe next to her, lying face down and still asleep. The sight of Chloe's bare back, smooth and unmarred, fills her with a desire to touch again. Chloe's arms, splayed under her head, shift nearly imperceptibly, and Beca tenses, afraid she's woken the other woman up. After a moment, Beca assumes, due to the lack of further movement, that she hasn't woken up. A little dazed from the events from last night, Beca turns to the nightstand to check the time.

_5:04 AM_

Fantastic.

Is she supposed to stay? Or maybe Chloe will wake and start screaming at her in French? Well, Beca recalls her screaming in a less than hostile way just a few hours ago, so maybe there will be a repeat? Either way, staying is riskier, and Beca's flight leaves in three hours, so she leaves the bed as carefully and quietly as she can manage. Her clothing is scattered around the room; she finds her bra under the table, her underwear on the couch, her top under the bed, her pants discarded haphazardly on the ground, and her jacket flung over the TV.

Just as she's putting on her shoes, Chloe finally stirs from her slumber and rolls over to face her. The woman rubs the sleepiness from her eyes and rakes a hand through her mussed hair.

"You go?"

Beca curses under her breath and kneels next to the bed, so that they're at eye level. She nods once, hoping that she doesn't seem too insensitive.

To her surprise, Chloe merely beams and leans forward to kiss her cheek once. She whispers something in French into Beca's ear, but she's not sure what it means. Then she pulls back and says, "Au revoir, Beca."

* * *

"You cannot be fucking serious!"

"Please calm down, m'am," the clerk attempts, looking around nervously.

"This is a joke, right?" Beca can't keep her voice from escalating in volume. "Yesterday was weather and today is technical difficulties?"

The rest of the passengers behind her grumble in agreement, hisses and whispers. The clerk bites his lip, "There's nothing I can do, the next flight for London is already full and we can only reschedule for tomorrow."

"Fucking unbelievable."

* * *

"Back so early?" Jesse teases her good-naturedly as she re-checks into the Marriot.

"Stupid airport," Beca snorts. "Could've been in London by now."

"Ah, but then I wouldn't have gotten to see your lovely face again," he winks and hands her the same hotel key. "Figured you might want the same room."

The brunette bites back a retort about how she didn't actually spend any time in that room anyway, but she thanks him and takes her luggage up to her room again. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, it's actually a great day in L.A., the sun is out, and it's the perfect day for a swim. She pulls her swim suit from her bag and changes into it, grabbing a towel and goggles before leaving for the pool.

The pool is at the back of the hotel and it takes a few directives and moments for her to find it. Lo and behold, splashing by herself in the middle of the pool is Chloe, and although Beca hadn't expected to see her here, she's kind of glad she has. A repeat of the night before wouldn't be the most terrible thing ever.

"Beca!" Chloe has caught sight of her and is vigorously waving at her. A grudging smile tugs at the corner of her mouth at her excitement. Just as she takes a few steps towards the pool, a stern blonde woman blocks her path.

"Excuse me," Beca says and tries to side step around her, but the blonde sticks out an arm, barricading further passage.

"Exactly who are you?"

"And who are you?" She finds herself astounded at how rude the other woman is and sees Chloe hoist herself out of the water from the corner of her eye.

"Bree!" The admonishment comes as Chloe, dripping wet (and in a way Beca still appreciates), approaches the two of them. There's a rapid exchange between them in French that leaves Beca a slight bit dizzy.

Evidently Chloe wins the argument, as the blonde woman turns back to her with a miffed expression, "My sincerest apologies." She looks about as sincere as a con-artist, but Beca nods in acceptance anyway. "My name is Aubrey Posen, I serve as a translator and personal assistant for Ms. Beale here."

"Nice to meet you," the brunette manages as amicably as she can, but it still takes a glare from Chloe to spur Aubrey into action and return the gesture of a handshake. Chloe says a few more words to Aubrey before indicating that she wants it translated.

"Ms. Beale would like to inquiry as to why you're still here instead of saving us the pain of this meeting," Aubrey glares daggers at her and Beca knows that's not the exact wording Chloe's used.

"Sorry, have I done something to offend you?"

"Besides take advantage of Ms. Beale?"

Beca laughs incredulously, "What? Where did you get that idea?"

"I can tell from your skanky outfit and attitude," Aubrey sniffs and Chloe frowns at her, clearly realizing that what she wanted communicated has been twisted.

The brunette shakes her head in disbelief, "I'm wearing a swimsuit and a towel because this is a pool."

"Bree," Chloe whines, tugging at the woman's arm.

"Ms. Beale wants to know what happened to your flight," Aubrey states dully, her voice emotionless now instead of hard and flinty.

With a shrug, Beca answers, "Something wrong with the plane."

Aubrey relays the reply to Chloe quietly and then turns to Beca as Chloe speaks excitedly, "Ms. Beale wants to buy you a drink."

* * *

"Where are you from?" Aubrey translates for Chloe as they sit down at the bar, the redhead chivalrously offering Beca her jacket to cover up her swimsuit.

"Oregon, just north of here, and you're from France?" While Beca's not really sure she trusts Aubrey to translate her question correctly, the blonde is the only one of them who can speak both French and English, so it's the best thing she's got.

"Paris," Chloe says, which needs no translation really, but Aubrey does anyway.

"So why are you really here in L.A.?"

The grin that Chloe gives her is downright flirtatious and knowing, no doubt thinking of her answer yesterday. "I wanted to get out of Paris, see the world."

"Not much here in L.A."

"And where was your plane supposed to be taking you?" Aubrey's monotone is really jarring for Beca in contrast to Chloe's warm and excited French.

"London."

"Why not stay here with me?" Aubrey shoots Chloe a disbelieving look.

What a ridiculous notion. Appealing sure, but still utterly ridiculous.

"I don't know about that."

Struggling with the foreign words, Chloe manages to say, "Live a little." It's quite accented, but Beca finds herself utterly charmed, and almost wanting to believe in them.

"I want to," Beca tells her sincerely and she has a feeling that Chloe understands the sentiment even without the translation.

With a slightly disappointed tilt of her head, Chloe speaks out of the corner of her mouth to Aubrey, dismissing her. The blonde hushes words of warning under her breath as she departs and shoots Beca one last venomous glare.

"She doesn't like me much," Beca jabs her thumb over her shoulder in reference to the retreating woman.

Whether Chloe understands or not, she dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand and rests the other hand on Beca's arm. There's that familiar twinkle in her eyes as she tugs Beca to her feet, "Allons-y!"

They spend the rest of the afternoon swimming in the pool playing various forms of tag involving heavy splashing. The wide mouthed grin that Beca sports never leaves her face.

* * *

A low buzzing noise in the early hours of the morning rouses Beca from her fitful slumber.

_2:54 A.M._

What the hell? It's her phone. Figures. Carefully, Beca pries herself loose from Chloe's embrace and hastily pulls on a bathrobe before taking the call outside in the hallway.

"Hello?"

" _I saw your flight was delayed again."_

"Second time."

" _Unfortunately something's come up. Had you been here already it wouldn't be a problem, but..."_

"Really, Dad? What's so important that I can't be there?"

_"The chairman's son wants me to go golfing with him tomorrow and inquired about my daughter."_

"I'm gay. We've gone over this."

There's a heavy sigh from him, " _Yes, I know. That's why I told him my daughter wasn't planning on coming to London."_

"Instead of saying, sorry, she's not interested? This is so typical of you."

" _My position in the company isn't very stable right now, Beca, you know this. I couldn't risk offending him."_

Beca clenches her fists tightly trying to restrain herself from punching the wall, "Oh, and that's more important than spending time with your only daughter. Okay. You know what? Have fun golfing. Good riddance."

Unable to keep her frustration internalized, she spins around and slaps her palm against the wall angrily, the stinging taking the edge off. Suddenly, the door to the room opens and a still naked Chloe peers out. Even though she's kind of not in the mood to deal with anyone, much less confusing French women who make her feel like she's insane, Beca gently pushes her back into the hotel room.

"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?" The concern in her voice seems real.

Beca wraps the bed sheets around Chloe, hugging her slightly, sensing that it's kind of chilly. "Nothing. Just...my dad."

Maybe Chloe doesn't understand really what she's upset about, and Beca hasn't explained anyway, but she pulls Beca down onto the bed and guides the brunette's head into her lap. As Chloe gently strokes her temple, she begins to sing quietly.

_Fais do do, Colas mon petit frere,  
 _Fais do do, t'auras du lolo.__   


Her voice is remarkably clear and soothing and Beca lets it wash over her. Her fingers trace a path down Beca's nose and then back up to her forehead. The light pressure feels quite nice.

_Maman est en haut,_  
 _Qui fait des gateaux_.

The previous anger seeps out of her, coaxed out by Chloe's lovely voice, and Beca lets herself relax in the arms of this wonderfully fascinating woman.

_Papa est en bas,_   
_Qui fait du chocolat._

As she drifts off to sleep she can't help but think that she'd like to stay here.

_Fais do do, Colas mon petit frere._

* * *

In the morning Beca makes a decision, one that she probably shouldn't make.

"I'd like to stay here," she whispers to Chloe in the morning as they lay face to face on the bed. Upon receiving a questioning look, Beca presses her hand into the other woman's, letting their fingers tangle lazily. "You," she points her free hand towards Chloe, "Me," towards herself, "Here," and raises their joined hands to place a brief kiss on both their fingers.

An understanding dawns on Chloe beautifully, her face glowing with unabashed happiness and she kisses Beca fully on the lips, taking the opportunity to straddle her and press her into the mattress firmly.

She repeats the same French words from her farewell the day before. And for the first time Beca actually doesn't care that she doesn't understand the meaning.

* * *

Later, after many many more rounds, Chloe takes Beca to the restaurant downstairs, tugging her hand nonchalantly. They sit at a proper table, candle-lit and everything, this time. When the waiter comes for their order, Chloe closes her eyes and randomly points at the menu. Her finger lands on some sort of anchovy soup and Beca shakes her head no while trying to control her laughter.

"You," Chloe gestures towards her, indicating she wants Beca to order for her.

"Salmon for me," but she's unsure if Chloe has any allergies, so she sticks with a safe order, "And a BLT sandwich for the lovely lady here."

Chloe quickly interjects to order one of the most expensive wines causing Beca to raise an eyebrow. Either she's feeling rather rich today, or she has quite a bit to spend on this vacation. As they wait for their food, Chloe takes to playing with Beca's fingers, leaving skimming and teasing touches. When the waiter returns with their meals, Chloe checks her phone and quickly types something.

"I'm boring you?" Beca teases, pointing her fork towards the phone.

"Bree," Chloe replies, exaggeratedly texting now, "Bree come later."

"To eat with us?" She accompanies her sentence with hand motions.

With a firm shake of her head, Chloe struggles for her next answer, "Uhm, French and English."

"Must be serious," Beca chuckles, reaching out to hold her hand.

* * *

It's about halfway through the meal that Aubrey shows, marching in head held high. Chloe squeaks through a bite of her sandwich and waves her over wildly.  
A rare smile makes its way onto the blonde woman's face, but it quickly slides off as her eyes land on Beca.

"I see you've stuck around," her tone is biting.

"What can I say? This place has great," Beca pauses, purposefully looking towards Chloe, "Scenery."

Predictably, Aubrey fumes quite noticeably, her cheeks flushing red with anger and she's about to snap when Chloe tugs at her arm speaking in rapid French, no doubt a request for translation. Apparently it's quite a controversial request because the two of them exchanged heated words before Chloe's eyes flash in warning, something Beca's never seen before, and her voice grows cold, eliciting shivers from the brunette.

It seems to have a similar effect on Aubrey, for she turns around looking remarkably chastised and tells Beca, "Ms. Beale wants you to come back to France with us."

"What?" Beca looks at Chloe, noting the seriousness in her expression, "You're kidding."

"Oh, believe me," Aubrey snorts, "She's not kidding."

"I couldn't do that," Beca directs at the redhead, who quickly shakes her head and attempts to convince her with quiet whispered French. "I can't. How?"

"You don't know who she is, do you?" Curiously, Aubrey peers at Beca for the first time without any hint or trace of malice.

"Chloe."

Aubrey sneers, "Chloe Beale."

With a quick slap to the arm, Chloe reprimands Aubrey and argues with her over something. Beca sits there not quite understanding.

_Chloe Beale. Beale. I've heard that somewhere before._

"Like Beale Toys?" Oh. Everything falls into place now.

Shooting Chloe a triumphant glance, Aubrey confirms it, "Try daughter of the President and founder of Beale Toys."

Of course Beca's heard of it. The largest toy company in Europe and one of the best imports into the States. In fact, she probably has a few Beale Toys from her childhood at her mom's home. It's a well known brand.

Chloe looks slightly miffed that Beca's figured it out, but she urges Aubrey to continue, "Listen, Beca. I don't particularly care for you. Random woman Chloe's met and supposed one-night stand."

Two-night stand she wants to interject, but wisely doesn't.

"But she wants you to come back to France with us."

And Beca looks at Chloe fully, thinking about the light voice singing her to sleep the night before.

Once again she has all the reasons to say no...

_It's definitely not safe._

_Mom and Dad won't know where I am._

_I've literally just met her._

But Beca finds herself snagged.

"Okay."

The answer seems to surprise Aubrey, as if she expected Beca to turn them down.

"Yeah," Beca finds herself echoing, "Okay."

* * *

Paris is every bit as beautiful as she's heard. Gorgeous buildings surrounded by quaint little shops and always a scent of fresh coffee in the air.

Upon arriving in the city, a limousine had shown up and taken them to a mansion. Well, mansion is putting it lightly. Chloe's residence is a towering castle in Beca's eyes, high-rising and royal. Amidst all the beauty, and yes admittedly, sex, Beca forgets herself. She forgets that she has another life, one certainly less glamorous and vivid as this one.

On the first day, Aubrey explained that Mr. and Mrs. Beale were currently away in Vienna for business so the house is all theirs. And certainly do they make their way through the house marking it as theirs. Beca's sure they've been in each room at least once, but the house constantly surprises her, Chloe turns a corner and leads her down a passage revealing a new room or a staircase winding up to somewhere she's never seen before.

Not everything is about the sex though. Sometimes they swim lazily in the outdoor pool, a nice cool breeze washing over the estate. Other days Chloe takes her out to see various place, like the Notre Dame Cathedral, the Arc de Triomphe, and most recently, the Louvre. Beca's never been big on the tourist scene, but she's quickly learning that anything Chloe wants, she gets, and sometimes, maybe, just maybe, Beca enjoys it that way. At the end of those exhausting days, they're too tired to do anything but soak in one of the many large jacuzzi tubs together. While Chloe attempts to shower Beca with affection in the form of small gifts (small to Chloe, ridiculously expensive to Beca), the brunette protests, trying to convey that she doesn't need presents.

Surprisingly, despite the language barrier, they rarely have to ask Aubrey to translate for them. It's almost like Chloe has a knack for understanding Beca and her expressions and body language.

Three weeks pass so swiftly that Beca wonders where the time has gone. Although she's long since informed her mother where she is (albeit lying about who she is with), her e-mail inbox and phone voicemail is filled with unread messages and ignored calls from her father. For now she's content to let them slip from her memory. Her mind is filled with the delicacies of France, the picturesque scenery, the feeling of absolute bliss, and always Chloe.

Chloe's happiness is infectious. She finds herself smiling simply when Chloe is near her, the rays of sunshine seeping into her bloodstream. What this is, and what they are, those are two things she keeps herself from analyzing. Warm nights when they're lying naked and entangled under the sheets, Beca can hear and feel Chloe's solid heartbeat thumping steady and consistent. Those are the moments when Beca knows that this is real.

* * *

The Beales return from their Vienna trip on Beca's twenty-first day in Paris. Mrs. Beale is a regal looking woman, every bit as stunning as her daughter, she holds herself tall and proud. On the other hand, Mr. Beale is a kind-looking man, that familiar twinkle in his eyes, he's a little shorter than his wife and visibly balding. But Chloe's warmth undoubtedly comes from him.

They both greet Chloe as if it's been years since they last saw her. Beca hangs back with a small grin playing on her lips as she watches them interact and she feels her fondness for Chloe grow with each motion and laugh.

"Maman, Papa," she finally directs them towards Beca and introduces them to her, "Beca."

Mr. Beale surprises her with a gruff, "Heard a lot about you, Beca."

"You too, Mr. Beale," she shakes his hand firmly.

"You seem surprised that I speak English," he looks at her knowingly.

Beca stammers in her attempt to cover up what must appear to be an insult, "It's just Chloe doesn't really-"

"I'm just kidding," he booms with laughter, "As a businessman, English is a must. Chloe didn't bother, just liked Flemish, German, Italian, and Dutch enough to learn."

Her jaw drops. Five languages? She can barely speak one right now.

"We'll leave you two girls alone," Mr. Beale winks at her, and really, Beca blushes, wondering exactly how much Chloe's told him. "It was nice to meet you, dear."

Mrs. Beale presses a kiss on each cheek and waves a farewell.

"So you speak five languages?" Beca pulls Chloe to her with a teasing smile. "What else don't I know about you?"

Chloe laughs, the sound resonating somewhere within, and she kisses Beca deeply.

* * *

A week later and it's finally setting in for Beca. She knows this can't last, it was a dream to think otherwise. What are they even doing? College resumes in two months and Chloe probably will be busy. Beca doesn't even want to leave France, so she can't imagine how Chloe can bear to leave it again either. They can't talk to each other unless they can draw out or mime the motions. They'll try to keep in touch, but it'll fall through eventually, the effort of communication weighing heavily so that it'll occur less and less frequently. Eventually Chloe will forget that Beca ever existed and this last thought stings in particular.

Although she tries to shrug it off, she knows she has to go back home. Maybe Chloe senses it in her mood, because she looks at her with worried eyes and kisses her shoulder reassuringly.

It's Aubrey who convinces her in the end.

As the three of them prepare to go out to see the Eiffel Tower, Chloe remembers she's forgotten something in her room and disappears upstairs leaving Aubrey and Beca alone at the front hall.

"I see you're still here," Aubrey comments, not even looking at her. "No obligations back at home?"

It just brings up the fact that this can never work out to the forefront of Beca's mind again. "Summer vacation, you know," she says instead dismissively.

"And what happens when you must return home?"

"I go home," Beca says, resolute in showing no weakness.

Aubrey sneers at her now, looking her in the eyes, "And what do you think Chloe will do?"

"She'll move on." That's what she thinks the blonde woman wants to hear.

Evidently not. "You really don't know her very well, do you?" Beca doesn't have an answer to that. "Chloe's not that type of person. She'll never forget." An odd sense of relief washes over her at that. "But you'll move on, won't you? And Chloe will be hung up over someone she can't ever be with. She'll sit here in France with all the luxuries and comfort, but she won't forget her loneliness. She'll think that one day you'll come back for her, or she'll be able to go to you."

Beca's never thought that Chloe would be the one hurt in this situation. But now that the notion has made itself known, Beca knows she can't hurt the other woman.

"Do you care about her?"

She can't bring herself to look up from the ground as she mumbles, "I think I love her."

"You don't even know her," Aubrey points a finger accusingly. "You're in lust with her, but how can you love someone you don't understand? Do you even know how old she is?"

Well, Beca has no answer for that. It's never come up before.

"Do you know where she was born? Do you know where she's gone to school?"

"I don't need to know those things to love-"

"Then when she tells you she loves you, will you be able to understand that? What about when she's upset about something? How will you comfort her? Maybe a quick fuck? Don't try and trick yourself."

"You don't need-"

Aubrey cuts her off yet again, "And when you disagree over something what will you do without a translator? Is that really a relationship?"

And Beca wants to argue, wants to tell her they can make it work, but she's foolish to think that. A fool to think that this wonderful foray into a new world was anything but temporary.

"The longer you stay, the more attached Chloe gets. And that will make it harder on her for when you leave. So do us all a favor and go back home before you really hurt her."

"Bree? Beca?"

Chloe's walking down the steps and Beca turns to watch her, an angel descending. She always looks beautiful, her hair a radiant halo framing her, her face glowing, her body graceful and fluid. She swallows the lump that's growing in her throat and turns to Aubrey who looks at her meaningfully. Has a single word Aubrey said been a lie? No.

So, Beca walks up the steps to meet Chloe halfway.

"I have greatly enjoyed our time together, Chloe," Beca reaches out to touch her arm. "You have shown me so much. And I haven't ever felt this close to someone so fast." She must sense the goodbye coming, because Chloe desperately clutches at Beca's sleeve shaking her head and whispering in French. "I have to go back home," Beca pauses, her next words coming out all watery and weak, "I was silly to think that this could work out. Maybe if things were different."

Chloe tearfully pulls her in for a bruising kiss even though Beca's sure she doesn't know the exact meaning to her words.

"Je t'aime," she sobs into her neck and clings to her collar as if her life depends on it.

Aubrey attempts to add something, possibly something about how this is for the best, but Chloe whirls towards the blonde angrily. She snaps something that has Aubrey visibly recoiling, and she slides past Beca to argue with Aubrey face to face.

The brunette watches the events unfold, not fully understanding the argument, but she can guess what it's about. An instinct overwhelms Beca as she watches Chloe cry harder; she wants to hold Chloe and kiss her until the pain subsides.

Finally, Chloe turns to look at her and she says something in French, that same phrase from that first night at the hotel. But Beca knows it's all over. This has been a dream, like a fever.

The rest of the night is a blur, Aubrey dragging Chloe into her room and locking her in there. Beca packs her few belongings and Aubrey calls a taxi for her to the airport. But she can't help herself, and takes one last look at the window of Chloe's room, hoping to catch one last glimpse of red hair and blue eyes.

But nothing.

* * *

Back at home, summer drags slowly. Her mother doesn't question her too closely about France, perhaps sensing that something in Beca is broken and that she needs space and time to heal. Her father has stopped trying to contact her after the hundreds of unanswered calls, finally taking the hint. And Beca, well, she would rather be anywhere but here.

Sometimes, she stares out the window from her desk and she wistfully thinks of Chloe's perfume and laugh. Surely it will pass. She didn't even know Chloe that well, so it shouldn't feel like she can't live without her. It's an obsession, something she's idealized in her mind, something that will fade as time goes on.

July comes to an end, painfully and like a slow death. But she's sure this will pass.

* * *

It doesn't.

Her mother, perhaps increasingly worried with how Beca spends her days staring into space or lying on her bed, invites her best friend over.

Benji bursts into her room without knocking (that's how close they are) and announces his presence, "Your bestie who you've been neglecting all summer is here!"

Despite everything, Beca feels gratitude rushing up and she barrels into him with a bear hug.

* * *

After she's relayed her experience with Chloe and France, Beca feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders, as if she doesn't have to carry this burden alone anymore.

"And you just left that foxy lady?"

Beca slugs his arm in retaliation and he yelps. "Well, I couldn't stay."

"So wait rewind, after having sex with her once-"

"Three times," she interjects.

He amends his statement, "Okay, three times. After three times, she invited you to go to France with her?"

"Pretty much," she brushes it off as if it's nothing, although hearing it phrased like that, it seems ridiculous.

"Damn," Benji shakes his head, "Wish I'd been there. Bet I'd be a better translator than that blonde woman."

"Yeah, I was missing you, man," Beca lies, she can't remember thinking much of home when Chloe's strong arms were wrapped around her for the majority of her time there. "Made me wish I had listened to you in middle school and chosen French."

"My exact words were something like, 'One day you'll meet a hot French chick and you'll wish you could understand her.'"

With a snort, she replies without missing a beat, "Actually it was more along the lines of the practical use of French in the real world. I hadn't even figured out I liked girls back then."

"Come on," he gives her a look, "I knew you were gay before you did."

"No," Beca grins, her previous sorrow melting away. "You just indulged in girl on girl fantasies featuring me and got lucky."

"We're both right," Benji assures her. "But I'm righter, because it sounds like you really like this chick."

"Yeah, maybe if things were different, like if I didn't have college, or if I spoke French, you know."

He looks almost disappointed at her answer, "You can always take a gap year or study abroad or transfer."

"That's  _insane_ ," she states flatly.

"As insane as going to France with a woman you've known for two or three days," he rejoins.

"I don't speak French. I can't possibly be in love with a woman I don't understand."

Benji shrugs and says, "Entre deux coeurs qui s'aiment, nul besoin de paroles." She pauses.

That's the same French phrase Chloe said to her the first night and the last.

"What did you say?" Incredulously, Beca turns to him.

"Oh, uhm, it means, 'No words are needed between two hearts in love.'"

Is that how Chloe felt? Even in the beginning? Before everything that happened in France? Did she know then?

"What's wrong?"

"I just," she looks out the window watching the birds fly in circles high in the sky. "Don't know." A pause. "Do you really believe that, Benji?"

"What?"

She looks back down at the wooden flooring, "That no words are needed."

"Doesn't matter what I believe."

"Then, do you think it's true?"

He tilts his head, "You know the answer to that."

And she thinks of the long calm summer nights with Chloe, the pure bliss, the longing, the unadulterated happiness. And yes, she knows the answer to that.

* * *

_What am I doing here?_

_God, I need to turn around._

Without Benji by her side the entire trip, Beca would've turned around about thirty times by now. At the gate of the Beale residence (one of their residences, apparently), Beca punches in the security code at the gate, letting out a sigh of relief when she finds it hasn't changed. The doorbell sounds through the house so loudly that even Beca and Benji can hear it from the outside.

As luck will have it, Aubrey answers the door.

"Beca?" Her hawkish gaze moves towards Benji, "And company."

"Enchanté," he says, stepping forward for a handshake, but then when her hand grips his, he turns it and kisses the backside of her hand.

If possible, she looks a bit charmed with him.

Aubrey coughs and redirects her attention to a slightly amused Beca, "What are you doing here?"

"You were wrong," Beca says simply.

"Excuse me?"

"I know you don't like me at all, but I think it's just because you want to keep Chloe safe."

The blonde woman scoffs, "Is this supposed to be convincing me of something right now?"

"I'm here aren't I?" She still looks dubious. "I fell in love with her the very first night we spent together. I just didn't know it until later."

"And what about your obligations back at home?"

Beca quirks a smile, "I'll take a gap year and look to transfer to a university around here."

"And what about your language differences?" Aubrey challenges, hiding her surprise.

"I'll learn French, she'll learn English, I don't know. If she still wants me, I'll do anything." Beca takes a deep breath before reciting, verbatim as Benji's taught her, "Entre deux coeurs qui s'aiment, nul besoin de paroles."

Aubrey's eyes narrow.

* * *

"Chloe."

Two syllables. That's all it takes for her to speed out of her room and into Beca's arms. Chloe peppers kisses all over Beca's face as the brunette's groans with the effort of keeping both of them upright.

"I'm sorry I left," Beca hushes to her between heaving breaths. "I've never done anything like this before. I usually say no to everything, but something about you, something about how I feel about you, makes me say yes every time to us."

"Je t'aime," Chloe sobs into her neck and it's déjà vu, but Beca knows things will be different this time.

"P.S. that means she loves you," Benji loudly half-whispers across the room.

Beca shoots him a scathing look, "I know!"

"Maybe we should leave them alone," Aubrey suggests, her voice and demeanor uncharacteristically soft. Always a gentleman, Benji offers her his arm and they walk out to give the two women their privacy.

* * *

"I love you," Beca whispers once Aubrey and Benji are out of earshot. "And I don't think it'll ever pass."

With one look, Beca knows she understands the meaning of her words. Because the meaning is more important than the words alone.

_I love you._

_Je t'aime._

Mere words. Beca's found something far better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: Star Wars.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel so inclined.


	6. Shades of the Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some basic Star Wars knowledge is recommended.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Ex-

"Never lose sense of your surroundings." His breath is hot against her ear and a smile flits across her face unwittingly.

"I could hear you stomping through the other room, please," she breaks her meditation pose and stands upright. The young man, tall, brunette, handsome, wraps her in a loose embrace.

"Chloe, relax, who has trained and prepared harder than you? No one." His eyes are a warm almond color and meet her blue ones lovingly.

"I am relaxed," she insists as he gently rakes his hand through her soft red curls. "Just composing myself."

"We'll make it through this," he tells her with a soft kiss to her forehead. "Together."

"You always know what to say, Tom."

* * *

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

"Master Gail, how did your meeting with the High Council go?" Chloe jogs to keep up with her master's fast pace. Gail is middle-aged, blonde, but she stands out by her perfect posture, the proud way she holds herself.

"Terribly. They will not see sense," she sighs heavily, carrying a burden that seems to manifest itself in the wrinkles around the edges of her eyes, power walking to the nearby hangar.

"I'm sure they'll come around eventually," Chloe tries as diplomatically as she can.

Abruptly, Master Gail stops and turns on her heel to face the redhead, "We've been ordered to the planet of Nar Shaddaa to investigate a lead."

"Okay, I'll prepare our belongings."

"No," Gail ponders a moment, "It's a diversion, I can feel it."

"What should we do then, Master?" There's a deep furrow in Gail's brow, Chloe notes, that gives away her frustration at the situation.

"Can you feel it too, Chloe?"

Chloe scrunches her mouth in confusion, "Feel what?"

But Gail doesn't answer her and instead decides, "We're headed to Tatooine. The captured Senator is there, I'm sure of it."

* * *

_**Peace is a lie, there is only passion.** _

"The sentinels have left the area," Beca informs the flickering hologram displayed in front of her, static blue shivering in the air.

"For now."

The brunette bobs her head in agreement, "For now."

"And why not permanently?"

There's a tense sign of warning in his shoulders, hunched and tight. Swallowing her excuses, Beca answers as steady as she can manage, "I'll make them disappear forever soon enough."

An approving smile flashes across the man's face, brief but a light in the eternal darkness of her world. He clears his throat, the grin fading fast, "I don't doubt your capabilities, Beca, but enough with such a menial task. I have something far more important for you."

"I live to serve you, my lord," she kneels, immediately aware of the implication of his words. An important task means that he trusts her to complete it, that he has faith in her, and that is all she has ever wanted.

"A Jedi, one I've tangled with before, has been sent to rescue the captured Senator. Though I've had several intel reports altered to falsely state her location, I will take no risks. I've been ordered by the Emperor to keep her in our possession, but I have business to attend to in Ord Mandell."

"What would you have me do?"

"Come take my place in Tatooine guarding the Senator," he slams his fist onto the table for emphasis.

"Of course, Darth Destruere," Beca salutes him.

"Remember," Destruere's voice is a forecast, a stormy caution, "Peace is a lie."

* * *

_**Through passion, I gain strength.** _

Beca remembers the first time she met Darth Destruere; in her memory he was larger than life, imposing and the epitome of strength. Many years have passed since then, ten or so, but she still fears and respects him as much, if not more, as she did that first day. The more time they spent together, the fonder she became of him. Destruere is not an easy man to please, the number of people he can tolerate for long amounts of time is so low that Beca can count them all on one hand and still have fingers left. But for her, the rare moments of pride or affection he displays for her, and only her, mean so much more. It means he's reserving those emotions for her, that they're genuine.

It's a common practice among the Sith for the apprentice to kill their master when they have reached the skill required for the task. Although it's a sure sign of weakness, Beca can't imagine taking Destruere's life. The thought of her lightsaber piercing his chest cavity, the low buzz of the saber, the glowing reflection of red on his face, the last gleam of cruelty in his eyes, all disgusts her. Murder isn't something she's a stranger to, an impossibility for a Sith, but even as practiced as she is, she knows she can't.

He's certainly not a good man, he manipulates, lies, cheats, kills, steals and everything under the two suns. But he's family to Beca, the closest she'll ever have now.

* * *

_**Through strength, I gain power.** _

Upon her arrival at Tatooine, she's greeted by Lieutenant Swanson who briefs her on the current situation.

"We have Imperial troops stationed at every entrance of this city, no one comes or goes without our knowledge," the Lieutenant tells her with a smart salute, then hesitates as he relays the next bit, "At least that's how it should be."

"Get to the point."

"There's a band of smugglers that have been able to slip past our defenses each and every time. At first we thought it was just harmless pranking, but recently they've been getting bolder."

Beca taps her fingers along the hilt of her lightsaber which seems to make the Lieutenant a bit nervous. She recalls Darth Destruere's words clearly in her head regarding dealings with inferiors.  _Don't ask questions, demand answers; don't give in to mercy, cut your losses._

Perhaps sensing a change in her mood, the Lieutenant begins to babble, "They've stolen several weapon stocks, but nothing too important yet-"

"Yet!" Beca's anger at the incompetence he displays coupled with the forced casualness of his words build fast. Channeling that rage, she calls upon the Force letting it flow through her before directing it at the Lieutenant, choking him.

The other officers around them look at the display with uncertainty, but one of them steps forward and drops into a kneeling position as Lieutenant Swanson claws at his neck, gurgling and gasping.

"My Lord!"

She lets her grip of Lieutenant Swanson slacken and he collapses to the floor. "Speak."

"I have found several leads regarding the smugglers, nothing substantial as of yet," the woman says, her head lowered.

"Nothing substantial. Perhaps you'd fill me in as to why that is."

Swallowing her fear, the woman clears her throat and speaks, clipped and clear, "I don't have the authorization to pursue such leads. But I think I know how they're making it past our guards and droids."

"State your name and rank, Officer," Beca demands, intrigued.

"Corporal Aubrey Posen of the Fifth Regiment."

"You say you think you know how they're doing it."

Corporal Posen's head gives a sharp nod, "Perhaps, my Lord."

"I don't want a perhaps, I want a yes."

Taking a shaky breath, she whispers, "Yes, my Lord, I know how they're doing it."

"Excellent," Beca says, relishing the thrill of command, "If you prove to be correct, you will take Lieutenant Swanson's position."

There's no talk of failure, for the Corporal surely knows the unspoken punishments in store for her.

As Beca makes a swift exit to her quarters, the adrenaline ebbs away and she's left with the satisfaction of power.

* * *

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

Tatooine is hostile territory at the moment, rebel forces have combined with some of the Republic's forces to attempt to retake their planet from the Empire. As their ship, the Flying Jackal, touches down at the rebel base, Master Gail is up and out of her seat, striding quickly out. Chloe trails behind at a slower pace, gathering their belongings and important items.

"Captain, they have the Capital, am I right?"

A man with curly brown hair and a sort of disarming smile waves a hand at Master Gail, "Always. They have every inch of the city covered with detector droids and it's swarming with guards."

"Is there any way for us to get in?" Chloe finally catches up, panting for breath.

"I'm Benji," the man says, shaking her hand firmly. "And we have friends in high places. One of my close friends is a top leader in a smuggling ring. They've been causing little bouts of mayhem for the Imperial troops, replacing their holo-communicators with fakes and detonating weapon and food storages. If the price is right, they'll do anything."

"I can pay them in Republic credits. Price is not an issue," Master Gail informs him.

"I'll see if I can get in contact with them and flesh out the details then!"

"Thank you, Captain."

Benji nods, a bounce of curls, "Any time, Master Gail."

"Come, Chloe," they head towards the rest station. "Let us meditate before the confrontation."

As they settle into a private room, Gail sinks to her knees immediately, eyes closing. Chloe joins her after a moment of hesitation.

"There is no emotion," Master Gail's voice is soothing, lulling her into a state of absolute stillness. "Let peace fill your mind and soul."

And she does, the tranquility seeping into her bloodstream, carrying a peace she's experienced before to her heart. Nothing exists, not time or war or her physical being, there is only the Force.

* * *

_**Through power, I gain victory.** _

It must be the very earliest hours of the morning when a bumbling soldier crashes through her door and into her room. In pure reaction, Beca springs forward, lightsaber already drawn and crackling.

"My Lord, Corporal Posen reports sightings of smuggler activity in the underground tunnels!"

"Take me there."

The man leads the way as he continuously mops his forehead of sweat, a clear sign of dread and fear. On some level it infuriates Beca to know that someone so weak and full of terror is employed by the Empire, but she pushes it down to focus on the matter at hand.

Corporal Posen stands poised near the entrance to the tunnels, one hand on her hip, the other tapping something into her personal holocom. As she approaches, the Corporal faces her quickly with a snapping salute.

"Brief me," Beca has no time to waste on pleasantries.

"There's two well-known smugglers, leaders of the operation of sorts, accompanied by two other unidentified humans," Corporal Posen reports, her face betraying no emotion, but Beca can sense a certain air of victory about her.

Gesturing to the five troopers standing beside the Corporal, Beca waves a hand towards them, "Come, tonight we dine on the flesh of the Empire's enemies."

Obediently they follow her down the winding staircase into the underground tunnels, an uncharted territory, and Beca can feel it in her bones that the battle ahead is going to be difficult. About halfway to the specified coordinates Posen has given her, Beca halts in her footsteps. She can sense them ahead, two users of the Force, so devoid of fright and absolutely pure.

_Jedi._

It's the only logical explanation. She has a sudden idea and speaks into her communicator, "Send more troopers down, we're going to need some serious firepower."

"Yes, my Lord," comes the prompt answer.

She removes her robe hurriedly, ignoring the shuffles of discomfort from the troopers, stripping down to only a baggy top and her underwear. Her hand swipes away a bag from the troopers side and she stuffs her robes and lightsaber into it, rushed by the increase of presence in the Force. They're strong, maybe stronger than her.

She's a Sith, she pushes down her terror instinctively before remembering not to. Sinking into the ground, Beca collects herself, focusing her emotions correctly, fear, anger, terror, panic. The troopers don't dare interrupt her as she rubs some of the dirt of the tunnels onto her face and body, smearing it artlessly.

As the sound of footsteps becomes audible, Beca spins suddenly, a fist catching the edge of one trooper's helmet. He lets loose a sound of surprised pain as he flops to the ground, caught by her momentum. At the sudden increase of volume, the faint footsteps from afar become scuffled and quickened.

"My Lo-"

Before one of the other troopers can properly express his surprise, Beca swings her leg into his abdomen in one fluid motion, eliciting a grunt as he falls to the ground next to his comrade.

Upon hearing the familiar buzz of a lightsaber, Beca knows the Jedi have finally arrived. One, a blonde woman, dives over the third trooper's head only to slash him down upon landing in front of him. A younger woman, redheaded, dispatches the two remaining soldiers with ease, her blue saber twirling intricately in a style of fight Beca's rarely seen.

"Thank you," Beca gushes in faked gratitude and pretends to sob, a rough choking noise she imagines is the right action. "I think there's more."

"Chloe," the older blonde woman addresses what must surely be her apprentice, "Take this girl back to the base and escort her back to her home wherever it is."

"But Master, I-"

"These are my wishes," the Master is firm and resolute, "I must face whatever awaits me ahead alone. It will take great courage and insight for you to complete the mission I've bestowed upon you."

Some unspoken agreement is made between the two of them, Beca's throat dry with the effort of making strangled noises. She almost rolls her eyes, internally begging for them to skip the dramatics.

"Yes, Master," the redhead, Chloe, bows her head. "May the Force be with you."

"And with you," the blonde woman looks at the two smugglers next to her calculatingly before moving on, calling over her shoulder, "Don't forget yourself, Chloe."

* * *

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

As Chloe tugs the girl along the underground passages back the way she's came, she can sense the inner turmoil the girl is experiencing. There's an overwhelming fear encompassing her, but something stronger, something deadlier too. As they near the exit, the girl suddenly spins away from her, wrenching her arm away. The bag the girl's been carrying drops to the ground spilling out familiar black robes and a silver hilt.

Immediately, Chloe draws and ignites her lightsaber, the blue crackling to life. In response, the brunette draws upon the Force to call her lightsaber into her outstretched hand, red whooshing out, a matching hum filling the air.

"Divide and conquer," the Sith hisses, her eyes clearer now in the light, revealing a strange orange hue.

"Arrogance doesn't suit you," Chloe responds, slipping into her opening stance, her blade held back in a one-handed grip, angled forwards. She holds her left arm parallel, hand held out in a challenge, positioning her right foot back.

The Sith girl has adopted a stance as well, Chloe guesses it to be Form IV, Ataru, and in this confined space, with its low ceiling and narrow tunnels, Chloe has the advantage.

"And what would you know about things that suit me?"

The two women circle each other slowly, taking care not to misstep, an error this early could very well determine the outcome of the battle.

"This need not end in a fight," Chloe speaks clearly and confidently as she's seen her Master do on multiple occasions in confrontation with enemies.

"You're the one who drew your blade first."

Oh. She's not wrong. It's that moment of pause that gives the Sith girl an opening. She lunges forward, lightsaber flashing downwards in an arc, Chloe only avoiding it by a reflexive horizontal block. Several more attacks rain down heavily upon her, but she easily deflects them, prepared.

Perhaps realizing her disadvantage in such a small battlefield, the Sith girl presses her away with a Force push and turns back, running towards the tunnel exit. Quickly recovering her footing, Chloe pursues the fleeing brunette, lightsaber still in hand. As the Sith stops outside and pivots, taking in her surroundings, Chloe paces herself, guiding her mind to a calmer place. A battle is not a chaotic brutality, but a dance of lights and clashes. With a quick and agile leap, the Sith jumps over her, striking down viciously, lands and swipes an attack that Chloe avoids with a responding hop over the blade.

Tiring of the constant defensive stance Chloe is taking, the girl begins to taunt her, hoping to goad her into the offensive, making her careless.

"Stop this pansy dodging and blocking. Fight back!" When Chloe ignores her and continues with the same fighting style, the Sith decides to crank it up a notch, hoping to strike a chord, "What do you think is happening to your Master back there in the tunnels? Finish this fight with me and you can run back to her aid all the faster!"

_Slow and steady, Chloe._

Another clash of blades, sending sparks of blue and red flying around them, and Chloe can feel the high rise of emotions of the other girl. The pure adrenaline and joy of combat, the anger and frustration at her futile attacks, and a deep seated hatred, but for what, Chloe doesn't know.

"I called in for back-up. Do you really think your Master can take on dozens of droids and troopers while protecting your two friends?"

She's trying to plant seeds of doubt, of hesitance, of panic, and Chloe refuses to give in.

"She is more powerful than you have ever dreamed of."

"I dream far more than you imagine," the Sith retorts, angling her blade upwards in hopes of breaking Chloe's parry. "After I kill you, I'll head back and kill her."

"You can't even manage to touch me, I struggle to see you killing either of us," Chloe replies, a hint of irritation filling her tone.

The Sith twirls, her blade batting away Chloe's and attempts to push her back with the Force again, but Chloe meets her head on and pushes back, their hands inches apart. Beads of sweat break out and slide down the redhead's forehead, threatening to drip down her brow and block her vision.

"I sense great fear in you, a fear of…pain?"

The exertion weighs more heavily now and Chloe struggles to keep pushing against the Sith's powers.

"Loss. A fear of loss," the girl settles on, gritting her teeth, "A boy?"

Chloe's eyes widen and in a moment of true alarm feels something break inside her and she sends the Sith girl flying through the air. She switches to an attack style now and swings her lightsaber down with great momentum. It catches the ground causing a great explosion of sand around them.

In the confusion, Chloe presses forward and attacks the Sith girl directly now, a fear gripping her heart tightly. She's never felt this way before, so wild and uncontrolled and it makes her blood boil with a heat that makes her feel…alive? No, not alive, but living.

"That's more like it!" The brunette sports a wide grin, her teeth bared, as she matches Chloe attack for attack. "Fight like you mean it."

It's like the dam holding her emotions at bay has given and it just floods everywhere, Chloe helpless to stopping it. She fights the Sith girl with only one thing in mind.  _Victory._

* * *

_**Through victory, my chains are broken.** _

Beca nearly buckles under the flurry of blows that Chloe has assaulted her with and she finds herself impressed. This is the kind of fight Beca's used to and she can deal with this.

"Give in to the Dark Side," Beca grins, watching Chloe's face contort as she resists. "Use your anger and fear against me!"

As their sabers meet in a deadlock, they're quickly surrounded by approaching troopers. The Jedi doesn't seem to notice anything though, her gaze locked in Beca's, focused and powerfully intense.

"It's over," Beca tells her, "There's no way out."

Honestly, Beca's not sure what she expects, but Chloe forces her back into a wall and faces the troopers head on. She winces, it's surely going to bruise later, but the matter at hand is more important. This could be a point of wasted potential.

She jumps up and rams the hilt of her lightsaber against Chloe's head and the girl crumples to the ground. After a moment, it's clear that the girl isn't getting up any time soon.

"Take her to my ship, chain her."

"Yes, my Lord."

Oh, Beca doesn't know what she can do with this Jedi, but she knows who will.

Later, when the troopers have all left and it's just her and the unconscious girl, Beca contacts Darth Destruere.

"Master," she greets, nodding her head.

"You've dealt with the Jedi that were looking for the Senator?"

"There were two, a Jedi Knight and her apprentice. The bad news is the Jedi Knight managed to escape with her two smuggler friends, the good news is I've already sent the Senator to a safer location in Alderaan."

"And the girl behind you?"

Beca gives barely a glance at Chloe before dropping her voice to a whisper, "The apprentice."

"You spared her." His voice is normal and she can't discern his thoughts from it.

"She nearly gave into the Dark Side, Master. I could feel it, such fear and anger!"

Darth Destruere's face is impassive before he nods, "Then break her chains. Free her of the Light Side." She nods and reaches out to turn off the transmission, but he cuts her off, "And Mitchell, don't get attached."

Amusing.

* * *

_**The Force shall free me.** _

It's around midnight that the redhead stirs, first a groan and then her eyes flutter open and Beca immediately stands, ready for any resistance.

Instead, Chloe blinks, focusing in on her slowly, "Where am I?"

"My ship," Beca replies, never taking her eyes off Chloe's.

"Can I have some water?"

"That's the first thing you think of?" Beca's more than a little amused.

The Jedi's mouth twists into a begrudging smirk, "Well, I figure you've kept me alive thus far."

"I don't trust you," the brunette tells her. "So, no."

"What's not to trust? I'm a Jedi, I have honor," Chloe nods solemnly.

"But apparently not enough dignity to suffer through thirst."

"I said honor, not dignity."

Beca shakes her head in disbelief. Bantering with a Jedi? Surely not. "Okay, SE4, fetch this girl some water."

"Right away, Master," the droid answers.

As the servant droid hands her the glass of water, Chloe mumbles her thanks and gulps some of it down.

"So tell me, Chloe-"

"Are we on first name basis already? I don't think it's fair, I don't know what to call you Master Sith."

Unusual. That's all Beca can think. Is this how confrontations up close with Jedi are all supposed to go?

"I'm known as Lord Mitchell."

"Not Lady?"

"It's a title. Sith Lord. Lord Mitchell."

Chloe sniggers, her chains rattling, "And you've never been mistaken for a man?"

Her expression says it all, but Beca snaps back in childish retaliation anyway, "And what do they call you, a Padawan? Ridiculous title."

"I'll be a Jedi Knight one day and what will you be, Darth Mitchell? Let's not kid ourselves. Terrible name."

"I could kill you, you know."

The redhead laughs, a full one now, and she says, "I make fun of your name and you threaten to  _kill_  me?"

Despite herself, Beca's mouth wants to laugh along with her. "I had a scarring childhood," she says sarcastically, instead.

"Probably didn't have a lot of other kids to talk to, huh?"

Is that pity she detects? Because she despises pity.

"Tell me really though, Lord Mitchell-"

"Just," Beca holds her hand up, "Just call me Beca."

For some reason, Chloe looks surprised, as if she hadn't thought a Sith could have a name like that. "Beca," she says, "Why do you serve the Empire?"

"For power." No-brainer.

"Would you serve the Republic if they offered you more power?"

A snort. "An impossibility."

"But if they could," Chloe elaborates, "If for some reason they offered you a position of such power, would you serve the Republic?"

"Yes." Such is the way of the Sith.

"You would give up your Master, your friends, your-"

"I have no friends," Beca tells her, one hand running through her hair. "But it would be an affront to my Master if I didn't reach my greatest potential. So yes, I would kill him and serve the Republic if it so suited my purpose."

"You would even join the Jedi?"

The brunette looks more directly into Chloe's eyes now, wondering where this line of questioning is going and wondering why she's even answering it.

"And what about you, Chloe the Padawan?" Deflection. "Would you join the Sith if it would help you achieve your goals?"

"I don't see how that's ever possible."

"Precisely."

There's a moment of silence before Chloe looks at her chained wrists, tugging experimentally. "Are you trying to lure me to the Dark Side?"

"It doesn't seem as if I have to put in much effort to do that," is her response. "You're headed that way in any case."

"Was that the Dark Side? That feeling…"

Beca's eyes gleam as she kneels next to her, "The power? The absolute command? Yes. Yes! That's the Dark Side."

"Intriguing."

Unable to contain it, Beca rolls her eyes and lets out a huff, "Even with all this freedom at the tips of your fingers, you can't even just enjoy it, you have to analyze it."

"If you give in to your baser instincts, if you let that primal power overcome you, what separates us from the starving animals? We'd just be monsters."

Oh, Jedi's and their high horses. "And if you suppress everything, pretend you have no emotions, what are you then? Less than human, less than alien, less than a creature. You're a void. An empty vacuum of space."

"We do not suppress everything!"

"And we don't let our hatred and anger master us."

Chloe falls silent, her blue eyes thoughtful.

* * *

_**We take what we desire because we can.** _

Beca assumes Chloe's master will be looking for her so she wastes no time in leaving Tatooine, having taken care of the mission her master assigned her.

Surprisingly, Chloe makes no attempts to escape, something Beca had kind of been looking forward to. She's installed a security system on her ship so tight that even a seasoned Jedi would have difficulty leaving, much less leaving without her knowledge.

After the first day, the Jedi doesn't say much more, just meditates all day. It's kind of boring.

It's just she imagined capturing a Jedi would be daring and exciting and an adventure.

Ends up, they're just a very boring type of people.

That doesn't stop Beca from trying to rile her up, of course.

"Is that what a Jedi does all day? Meditate?"

"We also eat and sleep."

"And snark. Apparently anyway."

Chloe shakes her head with something of a smile on her face, "Oh no, I'm one of a kind, baby."

And it always comes back to that. A sort of teasing, a gentle ribbing. Is that even possible for a Sith and a Jedi?

Beca finds herself looking for opportunities to say something. Anything.

"What's so great about the Jedi anyway?"

"What makes you think we think ourselves as great?"

Duh. "Everything. Your holier-than-thou attitude. That you try and "save" people."

For some reason Chloe bites her lip, looking unsure, "Greatness is measured differently by each person."

"And how do you measure greatness?"

The redhead looks at her shackles, as she does so often, as if to make sure they're still there, "Selflessness. Giving yourself to a more important cause. Protecting those who are weaker."

"See," Beca twirls around in the captain's chair. "You and I aren't so different after all, Chloe."

"What do you mean by that?" She sounds reasonably offended.

"We both want to shape the world for the better. We just have different ideas of what better is."

* * *

_There is no emotion._

_There is no emotion…_

_There is no emotion!_

Captivity. What is it if not a personal failure?

There's a pent up feeling Chloe's never felt before that's building inside. She feels caged, trapped within a physical form. It has everything to do with her close brush with the Dark Side. She can still taste it in her mouth, the unbridled power, the untamable fury and she felt so powerful. Emotions are dangerous, yes, but Beca's brought up interesting points, that repressing yourself isn't living at all.

She's walking a thin line, Chloe knows. This line between Light and Dark.

Sometimes she watches Beca. Just watches her pilot the ship, watches her examine the charts, watches her pace around. She has no idea where they're headed and Beca doesn't tell her either.

Once or twice she's caught herself considering the two of them as sort of…friends?

But they're not.

They're anything but friends.

Still, she watches the Sith. She wonders a bit what it's like to live without rules, with just the pressure and adrenaline of competition over her head. How difficult it must be.

* * *

_**Peace is a lie.** _

The ship lurches forward. Beca stands, alarmed, and rushes to the controls, typing furiously.

Another impact. The Sith nearly falls. Chloe clutches the wall.

"Smugglers," Beca hisses, her eyes flashing. "They're boarding."

On cue, the side doors of the ship slide open and three armed men rush in, pointing their blasters at them. Beca wastes no time and springs forward, her lightsaber taking down one of them before the other two have time to react. She kicks the second one away and backhands the third, who reels back, but still manages to shoot a laser. As she impales the man, one of the chairs next to her flies through the air and into the head of the second man, who falls, knocked unconscious.

Shocked, the brunette looks at Chloe, who has her arms raised.

"You could've escaped."

Chloe shrugs, "But then where else would I find another Sith who lets me study them?"

Beca's eyes narrow, but she doesn't know what to respond. Three armed men are not a match for her, but what is she supposed to think of Chloe's intervention?

* * *

_**We can because we have power.** _

"Master," Beca inclines her head as he calls her via holo-communicator.

His face is bloody, but she can tell it's not his own blood and oddly, she's weirdly relieved.

"How goes your trip to Alderaan, my young apprentice?"

"I've decided to change course," Beca informs him, her mind turning with the possibilities of excuses she can give.

"I see. Explain."

"I figure the Jedi Knight will have to choose whether her apprentice or her mission to save the Senator is more important. I want her to find us, so we're headed back to Tatooine," Beca lies, averting her eyes.

"Are you sure?"

He knows. He knows she's lying, that she has no intention of heading back to Tatooine, that she's not interested in the Jedi Knight or the Senator. He can sense her weakness.

"Of course, Master."

"If you're sure."

It's a challenge.

"I am."

"You fool. I order you here to Ord Mandell, Mitchell. We have much to discuss and the Jedi Knight can wait."

For the first time, she feels powerless.

* * *

_**We have power because we are Sith.** _

"What's wrong, Sith Lord?"

It's said in jest, but Beca doesn't have the heart to engage in a battle of wits with the apprentice right now. She buries her face in her hands, attempting to collect her thoughts.

"Beca?" If possible, Chloe sounds a bit more sincere, as if genuinely worried.

"I've been ordered to Ord Mandell." Why is she telling her this?

"What is so terrible about Ord Mandell?"

Never divulge your thoughts to the opponent. Don't give information unnecessarily. Always maintain the higher ground. She knows these. These are lessons she's learned the hard way. But she's throwing them away so easily. "My master has summoned me there."

"So?"

"He'll kill you, Chloe."

She laughs. She  _fucking_  laughs. "Is that what you're worried about?"

"You don't get it! He's using you against me!"

With a more subdued expression, Chloe whispers, "It doesn't have to be this way, you know? If you sense a great Darkness within me, I sense a great Lightness within you."

"What does that even mean?"

"I think both the Jedi and the Sith have their view on the Force wrong," Chloe says, her hands wringing nervously. "They think it's divided between the Dark and the Light, but I'm not so sure anymore. I think we all have a potential for both, that they both exist within us."

"Don't be ridiculous," Beca snaps. Just what she needs. An insane Jedi.

"If it's not that way, why don't you just kill me yourself?"

"Because…"

"Because?"

"Because you could be great! I can feel it. You could be a powerful Sith!"

Chloe gets to her feet shakily, teetering a bit. "What's the real reason?"

"That is the real reason," Beca reflexively reaches out and catches the redhead before she falls.

"I don't think you'd risk your bond with your master over that."

"And what do you know about my master? Nothing. Don't pretend to," Beca finds herself hissing into Chloe's ear as she supports her against the wall.

"What will you do then?"

They're close to one another. Closer than they've ever been physically. Beca can see the flecks of green in the other girl's eyes, can see a light scar on her forehead, can feel her breath on her cheek.

"I'll tell him you escaped," Beca realizes, rummaging in her pocket for the key and she promptly unsnaps the bands of metal around Chloe's wrists. "I'll tell him you tricked me. You can go back to your life and I can go back to mine."

Chloe's hand reaches out and touches her cheek, and Beca turns to look at her, stunned by the contact. Her fingers trail down Beca's jaw delicately and something that has lain dormant in her heart for so long begins to beat again.

"What will your master do to you?"

"I don't know," she replies, but she does.  _Cut your losses._  She does.

Evidently, Chloe knows as well, because she rests her hand on Beca's shoulder and sighs. "You'd give your life for mine?"

Is that what Beca's doing? It hadn't really dawned on her.

"I can't bring myself…"

"Why, Beca? Why are you doing this?"

"No one calls me Beca anymore," Beca tells her, she just needs her to know this one last thing. "I don't know, maybe I was careless, maybe I was stupid, but I told you too many things. I gave you too many parts of me."

"You're being dramatic," Chloe shakes her once. "Are you a Sith or not?"

"I don't know," Beca yells. "You make me feel like I don't want to be one! I just spent so much time wanting to be alone that I became lonely."

Abruptly, the redhead cuts her off with a firm kiss.

"Oh."

So Chloe kisses her again. And Beca can hear her heartbeat in her ears, a rushing, a pounding, something she's never felt before.

"Why?"

Chloe shakes her head, "Don't die for me."

* * *

_**Conflict is the only true test of one's abilities.** _

The guards stationed outside Darth Destruere's office salute her as she approaches.

"Lord Destruere has been waiting for you."

"Thank you, you're dismissed."

Beca marches in, her back straight, head held high like she's been taught.

"Ah, Mitchell," he doesn't even turn around.

"My Lord," she drops to one knee, as always.

But he's disappointed. His voice is full of it. "I thought you were on the path to absolute greatness, Mitchell."

"Greatness is measured differently by each individual, Sir."

Destruere laughs, a cackling wheeze that has Beca's nerves on edge, "Is that what the Jedi has been feeding you? You see, the difficulty of bringing someone to the Dark Side is that sometimes you have to walk to the edge of the cliff and see the Light below."

"Sir, you might change the galaxy, yes, but hundreds of years from now others will reshape it and remold it. All your power will be gone, dissipated, forgotten."

"Oh, but we will be gone then, Mitchell. What about life in the now? Those who hold power can live as they like, those without it are just ants waiting to be crushed," Destruere spins, his cloak casting a shadow over her. "Have I taught you nothing? Might is right."

"Sir, I have been with you for many years," Beca tells him, clambering to her feet, one hand on her lightsaber hilt. "You have been like a father to me, guiding me, but perhaps also misguiding me. But I know what you want from me. And I'm afraid I will have to disappoint you. I won't kill the Jedi."

"Perhaps I've misjudged this situation," Destruere's face breaks into a smug grin. "It is only fitting that you have come to confront me. Draw on your fear, Mitchell! Use it against me. Strike me down and take your power! It is your destiny."

"I'm not here for a fight, Destruere."

"Then your little girlfriend will die," he hisses, his voice twisting into a remnant of what she's used to. She must show her surprise plainly because he sneers, "Your little attachment to her is temporary, but this battle will either leave you dead or a changed woman, either way it'll be permanent. Don't act surprised. I knew it the moment I saw her. I could sense the change in you, the Light spoiling your purity already."

"Destruere, please, I don't want it to come to this," Beca pleads, something she's never tried before.

"Don't be naïve, the moment you accepted the position as my apprentice you knew this day would come."

She draws her lightsaber warily, igniting it, the red a harsh predictor of the bloodshed ahead. Destruere slowly swings his cloak off his neck and onto his desk, the black silk crumpling. He holds a hilt in each hand, two matching red blades.

The momentum with which he charges at her is unexpected and solid, knocking her back several feet before she regains her footing. Their sabers meet again in a wild exchange, red flying everywhere and Beca barely has time to react to the dual attacks. A particularly frenzied swing of his right arm goes right over her head and she dodges out of the way before his left can respond.

"Is this how you're going to fight? Running and hiding like a coward?"

A quick flick of his wrist and the tip of saber catches her blade's hilt. It extinguishes, a red mist surrounding the opening as it splits into two pieces. The heat of his lightsaber nearly touches her hand, but it passes over.

"Weak," he sounds genuinely let down. "I thought I had trained you better than that."

Suddenly, a whoosh of air next to her and Beca sees Chloe land near her out of the corner of her eye.

"An ambush? Lack of originality, I suppose, but-"

Chloe cuts him off springing into action, a slash of blue striking the unmovable red. They exchange several more parries and cuts before Chloe hops back to stand in front of Beca, shielding her.

"Touching," Darth Destruere drawls.

"Happens," Chloe shrugs.

"You were right about one thing, Beca, this one does have such potential in her," he says, closing his eyes. "A great Darkness."

"You don't know me, Darth," the redhead says, and aims a strike at his head which he easily blocks.

"Oh, but I do," he laughs, "Your affection for your boy back at home, your…attachment to Mitchell. Your emotions cloud you because you don't know how to use them!"

Chloe's eyes strain, but the blue dilutes into a glowing orange. She leaps, lightsaber flying towards him before she catches it again, then aims several blows at his torso which he has to contort his arm to block effectively. He throws her across the room and her grip on her lightsaber loosens, the hilt falling to the ground. Something about the grunt of hurt that Chloe gives spurs Beca into action and she calls Chloe's hilt to her, the Force flowing more easily than she's ever recalled.

She stabs him easily. Too easily.

His eyes are thankful and he whispers something before he falls to the ground, unquestionably dead.

It's very silent in the room.

And Beca cries.

* * *

_There is no death, there is the Force._

Chloe carries Beca back to the ship, one arm cradling her back and the other under the crook behind her knees. She's tiny, even smaller when wracked with sobs.

"I was wrong," Chloe hushes, mostly to herself. "I thought all Sith were heartless, but I know you are not."

She places the brunette on a cot and lies gently next to her, holding her. They fall asleep to the humming of the engine as it flies on auto pilot, drifting through space. Chloe watches the stars as they pass them by, glinting in the distance, and she feels very small as well.

In the morning, Chloe wakes first but in space, it's always dark. She watches the way the shadows arch over Beca's cheek, her lashes flickering as she slowly gains consciousness, and the slow rise and fall of her chest.

As the brunette's eyes open blearily, she whispers softly, "You saved me."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

And in that moment, Chloe knows. She knows that Tom, with his simplistic view on life and a one-minded perspective on the Force, can never understand what she's been through these past days. He will try because he is kind-hearted and compassionate, but he will never fully grasp the duality of the Force she feels. But Beca, with her contrasting Dark and Light, has achieved a greater depth with her. This connection right now, of Light, so much Light streaming in, but with Dark lingering in the background, is something she knows she will never have again.

"You saved me from a terrible crushing loneliness. It was cold there, Chloe. So cold."

Chloe kisses her forehead.

"Sleep."

And she does.

* * *

**There is the Force.**

When she's sure Beca's sound asleep, Chloe rises from the cot and closes the door to the quarters firmly. She uses the in-built holocom on the Captain's panel to contact her Master's ship. Quickly, she turns all signals off to keep Beca's ship in an anonymous coding.

The blue flickers and sizzles before settling into the image of Master Gail.

"Chloe!"

"Master Gail," she nods, and perhaps even over the communicator her master can sense the great change within her.

"What happened?"

"I've been on a journey, Master," Chloe decides to tell her. "I've traversed nowhere, but absolutely everywhere."

"I see."

"Master, do you think the Light and Dark are very different?"

Gail looks at her curiously, "In the very essence they are opposites."

"But are they not both part of the Force?"

"Yes, I suppose."

Chloe nods, "Everything that lives is part of the Force and the Force is part of it. Don't you think it natural that each person be composed of both Light and Dark?"

Gail's brow furrows, "The Dark never does things in halves, Chloe. It consumes, it does not allow for compromise."

"I am sorry, Master. I think my path is not with the Jedi."

"The Sith will never truly-"

"Not with the Sith either, Master. I want to walk a different path."

"Then may the Force be with you, Chloe." The redhead is slightly surprised, but Gail reaches one hand out in a farewell, "If you so choose your path, I would not be the one to stop you."

"Thank you, Master."

"And take care of the Sith girl." Probably guesswork, but impressive still.

"Beca," Chloe whispers. "Her name is Beca."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you Star Wars buffs, this takes place in the Old Republic, a few thousand years before the events of the Star Wars movies.
> 
> Hint for next chapter: Guitar Hero. Leave a comment if you feel so inclined~


	7. The Girl With the Plastic Guitar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No actual guitar hero knowledge is required.

"I swear to God, Chloe," Jesse insists, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "I met my soul mate today."

Snickering, she replies, "Soul mate, huh? What's my soon-to-be sister-in-law like?"

"She's a bit shorter than you, brown hair, I think brown eyes and she's so fucking amazing!"

She tries to stifle her laughter, she really does, but it comes out anyway, "Did you even talk to her?"

"Of course I did," but he won't meet her eyes and Chloe just knows he's hiding something. "I…uh…said hi to her."

"And?"

"She told me to shove off," he raises his voice to yell over her giggles, "But she was busy so it was just bad timing!"

"You've picked a real winner," Chloe pushes him lightheartedly.

"You know the TV in the lobby of Sherman's Hall?"

Who doesn't? "Yeah, with the Wii and Xbox or something."

"Yeah, she's there sometimes playing like Halo and COD and everything," he grins, "My kind of girl."

"So let me get this right," she sits up, setting her textbook aside. "You've got a crush on someone just because she plays video games?"

"Well, not exactly like-"

"If I had known that was all it took to get a guy's attention, I would've spent more time on games instead of studying."

"She's also got these killer looking tattoos up her left arm," Jesse offers. "And she smokes, or hangs around people who do."

"Sounds like precisely the type of girl that Mom and Dad would disapprove of," she smirks knowingly.

He coughs, "Mom and Dad don't like any girls I date."

"I wonder why…oh, maybe it's because you have  _terrible_  taste in women."

"Come on, Sis, let loose a bit. Any guys in your life?" Jesse fiddles with the zipper of his coat as he tries to change the subject.

"Oh no," she shakes her head, pushing him off her bed, "That subject is off limits. And I have class, so get out of here before my roommate gets back and presses charges."

"Please, Chloe," he acquiesces to her request, but backs out the door with his hands held up defensively. "Aubrey's got a major crush on me, she would never."

"Crush? In your dreams, ladies' man!"

* * *

But even though Jesse changes women like she changes songs (and that is often), Chloe's kind of intrigued. She's not curious enough to go stalk the girl or anything, her interest has just been piqued is all. So a week later when her roommate and best friend, Aubrey, is on her way to Sherman's Hall to pick up her boyfriend, Chloe tags along.

Aubrey calls Benji ahead of time requesting that he meet them in the lobby prepared to have luncheon at a casual restaurant. Honestly, their relationship dynamic is equal parts fascinating and weird. However, Chloe is just relieved that Aubrey's found someone who treats her well. The girl's had enough of heartbreak from high school, so college has been a drastic improvement.

They arrive at Sherman Hall five minutes earlier than the agreed time and as they wait, Chloe heads towards the large TV set in the corner. It's always surrounded by gamers, usually a group of guys who are too loud and too focused on the game. As luck will have it, she spots a girl (who is exactly how Jesse's described) amongst the throng of guys yelling at the screen excitedly. It seems she's playing Guitar Hero, a plastic guitar slung around her, her left hand around the neck of the guitar and her right strumming up and down furiously.

"Fucking bitch! I swear, if you beat my high score…"

"Shut up, Lenny. Just 'cause a girl's better than-"

"Shut the  _fuck_  up and watch!"

It's not that the display is disgusting (well yes, actually, it kind of is), but Chloe turns away instinctively from the pure noise they're making. The cheering just escalates and escalates as the girl's fingers move faster and faster across the five colored buttons, her other hand never breaking rhythm.

Finally the song ends and it ends in the loudest and most raucous racket Chloe's ever heard from the lobby.

"Take that, Norm!" The girl whoops and tosses the fake guitar across the room and into a guy's arms. "Girls can't play video games? Yeah? Wanna say it again to my face? I just beat your score playing right-handed!"

Suddenly, a guy stumbles down from the nearby staircase announcing, "Fight on the third floor!"

The guys surrounding the TV scream again in profanities and coarse language before all scrambling as one group up the stairs. The lone girl stays behind kicking the beer cans on the floor to the side. Maybe it's the approachability of just one person instead of a large gathering of strangers that causes Chloe to walk forward and talk to her.

"That was cool," Chloe cringes at how lame she must sound.

The girl looks up, greyish blue eyes meeting hers (Jesse's assessment of her eye color proving to be wrong). She seems a bit surprised at the comment.

"Yeah, it was rad," she sounds a bit sarcastic, but Chloe can't really tell. And on that note, how does anyone get away with using rad? "What's your name?"

"C-Chloe." Why does she stutter?

"Nice to meet you, C-Chloe," the girl smirks, and it kind of makes Chloe feel…derailed. "I'm B-Beca."

"My brother has a crush on you," Chloe blurts out awkwardly and then winces internally.  _Wow. Did I really…?_ "Wow…I don't know why I said that."

"Hey, it's cool," Beca laughs, setting the plastic guitar next to the drum set. "I don't know who your brother is anyway."

"Are you going to clean up this stuff?" Really, by now Chloe's just looking for anything to say.

"Nah, it's not my garbage. The guys can clean up their own shit." The brunette raises an eyebrow at her before deciding to ask, "Do you play Guitar Hero?"

"Oh, not really," Chloe shakes her head, glad for the smooth transition back to the original topic. "I've watched my brother and his friends play before."

"Want to learn?"

She laughs before realizing that Beca's serious. "Oh, I don't know, I'm not good at video games."

"I'm a good teacher," Beca teases, her mouth still in a smirk. "Unless you have somewhere better to be."

Maybe it's the easy confidence that the other girl displays that causes Chloe to nod.

"Yeah, okay. If it's not too much trouble, of course," she sets her purse on the floor next to the couch. Chloe walks over to Aubrey and quietly explains to her that she and Benji should go on to the restaurant without her.

"Trouble? Well that's to be determined," Beca winks when she arrives back in front of the screen.

For no real reason, Chloe finds herself flushing at the words. What's wrong with her? She's acting crazy.

"Okay, are you right or left handed?" Chloe holds up her right hand and Beca loops the strap over her head, her fingers brushing by the taller girl's neck. "Now, your left hand is gonna wanna grip the neck of the guitar like this," Beca moves Chloe's fingers purposefully over the colored frets. "Pointer finger on green, middle finger on red, ring finger on yellow and pinky on blue."

"But what about orange?" Chloe looks at their fingers splayed over the colors.

Beca moves behind her, her left hand never leaving Chloe's and reaches around the redhead to rest her hand on the right side of the guitar. "You can either move just your pinky to cover that bottom button," she demonstrates, "Or you can shift all four of your fingers down so that the top green button is uncovered."

Her breath is warm on Chloe's shoulder and strangely, her gut tightens. It must just be the close proximity.

"Now, your right hand," Beca's hand covers her free one and Chloe jumps a bit. "Whoa, calm down."

Blushing, Chloe apologizes, "Sorry, you startled me."

"So your right hand has three jobs, but for now just use it to strum," Beca moves Chloe's hand purposefully down over the strumming bar causing it to click. "Yeah, like that."

"Okay, and I just strum and press down on one of the colors?"

"Yeah, it'll tell you on the screen which fret to press," Beca sits behind the drum set, pulling out the drumsticks casually before selecting a song. "Don't worry, I've put it on no fail and easy mode."

"I'm a professional please," Chloe laughs, finally feeling a bit more normal now that she can breathe again.

But it's trickier than it looks and Chloe stumbles on the first few notes before getting the hang of it. Beca skillfully hits the drums, purposefully missing some notes in favor of singing along with the song.

"Shot through the heart, but you're to blame! You give love a bad name!"

An unbidden smile makes its way onto her face.

"Hey," Beca's voice makes her snap back to attention, "I'm doing all the work here, darling."

Chloe sticks her tongue out, but actually puts some effort into getting the notes right.

When the song ends, the screen fades out to "You rock!" Two percentages flash across the screen quickly, but Beca hits one of her drum pads and skips it. She pauses the game with a quick look towards Chloe.

"Not bad," she says approvingly. "I'm a damn good teacher, aren't I?"

"You barely did anything," Chloe mocks. "Was all me."

"Please."

"I do have a question though," she takes off the guitar and gently props it against the wall.

"Shoot."

"I saw you spin your drum sticks mid song, does that give you extra points or something?"

Beca laughs at that, "No, no it doesn't. It's just me having some fun."

"Doesn't that mean you miss some of the notes though?" Chloe's genuinely curious how a serious gamer can bear to lose points.

"Well," the brunette is a bit serious now, looking her straight in the eyes, "It's not always about hitting all the right notes."

"That's very deep," Chloe comments.

Beca shakes her head and shrugs it off, "Just how I am. So, C-Chloe, why don't you give me your number and I can teach you more Guitar Hero stuff."

"Only if you stop calling me C-Chloe."

"Not a chance," Beca wets her lips.

"364," Chloe says, "You'll have to work for the rest then."

"Alright, alright. Chloe, it is."

It'd be easy to give Beca her number, but there's something just fun about withholding. "Too late." Chloe grabs her purse and jogs out of the lobby calling out over her shoulder, "Bye!"

* * *

"Your crush is capital G gay," Aubrey announces to Jesse as he bursts into their room.

"What?"

Chloe shoots a glare at her roommate, "Shut up!"

"What's this about?" Jesse scrunches his nose, confused.

"Nothing," Chloe says with an air of finality.

Evidently, Aubrey doesn't pick up on the hint, "The video game girl is gay."

"Did she say that?"

"No," through narrowed eyes, Chloe slaps Aubrey's shoulder reprimanding her, "Aubrey is just jumping to conclusions."

"Wait, you guys talked to her?"

"Sort of-"

"Please, she was hanging all over Chloe," Aubrey rolls her eyes and flips through her magazine absentmindedly.

Jesse looks to his sister for confirmation. She resists the urge to slug her roommate, "We talked. We played Guitar Hero. That's it."

"Wow, so you're a babe magnet?" He looks at her in awe. "You should introduce me to her, like officially, since you're friends with her now."

"No," Chloe snorts. "Literally, we're acquaintances, if even that, okay?"

"She asked for Chloe's number," Aubrey interrupts, nonchalantly raising a hand waving Chloe's rage off. "If that's not flirting, I don't know what is."

"It was  _not_  flirting." Although, now she does wonder. Was it flirting? Was she flirting back? Oh God, what?

"You didn't even see how hard video game girl tried to play off as cool," the blonde girl finally looks up at the two siblings.

"Beca," Chloe states, "Her name is Beca."

Jesse flops onto her bed and grins, "Wow, you got her name? That's amazing. You should totally like go covert ops and find out about her for me."

"What? No!"

"Come on, Chloe, I'm your favorite brother!"

Shaking her head, Chloe scoffs, "And only brother."

"Precisely! Think of how happy you'd make me," he pouts, trying his best to adopt a puppy dog look.

"No! Do your dirty work yourself."

He sighs, "What good is a baby sister if I can't boss her around?"

Chloe grabs him around the neck and pecks his cheek, "Aw, you're so cute. But still no."

"I still think she's gay," Aubrey fakes a smile towards Jesse.

"You also thought Luke was straight," Chloe points out.

"He seemed pretty straight, okay?"

"My point has been proven."

* * *

About a week later, Chloe gets a call from a contact she's never seen before.  _B?_

"Hello?"

" _Hey_ ," comes through her phone clearly, " _So you want to hang out some time?"_

"Uhm, who is this?"

" _Beca_ ," is the response, " _Guitar Hero, you remember, yeah?"_

"How did you get my number? Wait, why are you listed as a contact in my phone?"

" _Trade secret_ ," Beca sounds smug. " _Come on, you know you want to learn more Guitar Hero._ "

"I don't know, dude," Chloe is dubious. "This is pretty creepy. I think you're stalking me."

" _Says the girl who watched me beat some loser gamers' asses from the corner?"_

"That was a public area!"

There's a laugh from the other side before Beca speaks, " _Well, I figure I've got a knack for teaching video games, so come on._ "

"Fuck," Chloe swears. "Okay. Sure. I'm insane," she chuckles.

" _You and me both, dear._ "

* * *

"So see this bar underneath the strumming bar?" Beca points it out for her.

"Yeah, it spins."

"Uh, well, that's not what it's meant to do," the brunette presses down on it. "It's a whammy bar, it does this like vibrato on the note."

"Okay, vibrato I know. I played violin for a few years," Chloe shares without really thinking about it.

"Really?" Beca's actually genuinely interested, something that takes the redhead back a bit. "What other instruments have you played?"

"Just violin and flute."

"Wicked," she grins.

Chloe blushes, again, she's not sure why. It must be that she's letting Aubrey's comments get to her. It's extremely possible that Beca isn't flirting with her, she's just being friendly.

"So last time you played in easy mode. That only uses the first three buttons. So today we're going to try medium and that's the top four buttons, okay?"

"Can I choose the song?"

Taken aback by the random request, Beca hums, "Hmm…sure."

"That one."

"Paralyzer? Girl's got some good taste in music."

The redhead merely smiles.

* * *

Another week passes before she hears from Beca again. This time when she sees the caller is from B, Chloe lets it ring a few times, deliberating whether to pick up or not.

"This is ridiculous," she tells herself.

So she picks up, and from the other side, Beca starts talking right away, " _You wanna hang out again?"_

"Are we friends or something?" Chloe bites her lip, inwardly cursing herself for letting that question slip out.

" _Sure, if you want to be."_

It's a neutral answer and Chloe doesn't know what to say to that. So she does what she does best. Spew random crap. "It's just, my brother really likes you. I don't know why. Oh, not that you don't have good qualities, I mean, if I was a guy I would totally like you too! I mean that he's never talked to you or anything."

There's silence from the other side of the line and Chloe panics, "I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. Okay, I'm not gay. That's it. I just have to say it. I'm not. And maybe you're not gay either and you're just being friendly, but I just felt like, I don't know. Nevermind."

There's another long silence.

"Beca?"

" _You're cute when you ramble._ "

She's relieved that Beca's still listening, but also horrified because she's  _still listening!_

"Okay. You're going to have to be a little more specific than that, because I am dying here," Chloe says, a little out of breath.

" _Dramatic much, Chloe?"_

"It's just, I'm so confused."

" _What are you confused about?"_

"Like, what are we doing?"

Beca replies patiently, " _We're two girls who play Guitar Hero together._ "

"Oh. Okay." She feels kind of silly now. And embarrassed.

" _But yes, I am so gay that your brother would not have a chance with me even if he was Zeus himself. And I am really into you._ "

"Oh," Chloe says. "Okay."

" _And if that's awkward, we don't have to hang out or anything._ "

She wonders how Beca's able to sound so casual after such an admittance. "No, no. It's not awkward."

* * *

"How can you possibly be into me?" She doesn't mean for that to be the first thing she asks, but it is.

Beca looks up at her, amused, "You're cool."

"No, I mean like we've only talked like four times," Chloe elaborates. "But thank you, I mean, I guess I'm cool."

"Well, your brother has a crush on me, yeah? Don't think I've even met him."

That's true. Well, they have met, but it seems Beca doesn't remember.

"He just likes you 'cause you're hot and you play video games," Chloe tries to explain her thinking. "And I don't-"

"So I'm hot?" A small smirk is playing on her lips.

"No! I mean yes! But not in that way!" She sighs. "I just mean, he likes what he sees on the surface."

"Maybe I like what I see on the surface for you," Beca shrugs.

"Oh," Chloe says. "I guess I just expected girls to be less shallow or something."

"Look," the brunette lays back on the couch, one arm hooked over the side, "I think you're gorgeous, yeah. I also think you're fucking adorable. And I like hanging out with you, even if we've mostly been playing video games and making awkward small talk. When I say I'm into you, I mean I think you're someone I could see myself dating and that in all of our conversations, you haven't raised any red flags."

That's probably the longest thing Beca's ever said to her. "Red flags?"

"Like you haven't said that you support Todd Akin or that your favorite band is the Spice Girls."

For some reason that makes her giggle, "Those are red flags for you?"

"Why? Do you have something to confess?"

"Well neither of those apply to me, so no," Chloe says honestly.

"Good."

"So where does that leave us?"

Beca shrugs, "Let me take you to a movie or something."

"Like, a date?"

"A movie. Straight girls do that, don't they?"

Chloe flushes, "I mean, yeah, I guess."

"Hey, you're straight, I get it," Beca says. "I just wanna hang out with you."

"I mean…can it be a date?"

That surprises the other girl, "Yeah, yeah, it can be."

"Am I doing this right? I've never asked out another girl before."

Beca smirks, "Life's not always about hitting all the right notes."

"Fine! I'll mash all the frets because I know it annoys you."

The brunette cuts her off with a swift kiss to her cheek, "As long as you hit some of the notes."

* * *

"You went on a date with video game girl?" Aubrey and Jesse accost her afterwards.

Chloe shrugs happily.

"You totally did!"

"And you said I had terrible taste in women!" Jesse shakes his head, "Oh, I'm telling Mom and Dad."

"No you aren't."

"Yes, I am."

"Only one way to solve this, Jesse," Chloe throws her hands up.

The two of them nod seriously, "Guitar Hero showdown."

* * *

The day before the Guitar off, Beca and Chloe go on a date at a local restaurant.

"So you're having a Guitar Hero showdown…?"

"Yep."

Beca quirks her mouth, "To prove what exactly?"

"Sibling rights over you."

"Sibling rights? Sorry, I'm an only child, you're gonna have to explain that."

"Well, this is going to sound weird, but Jesse saw you first, so technically he should be the one to take you out," Chloe clarifies. "But you asked me out before he asked you, so it's equal footing right now."

Slightly irritated, Beca coughs, "So isn't it basically just who I choose?"

"Well, if he wins, I can't rub it in his face that you chose me and if I win, he has to promise to back down completely and not tell Mom and Dad until I decide to."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Beca's annoyance fades slightly.

"Beale-Swanson tradition."

"So you pretended to be shit at Guitar Hero so you could talk to me?"

Biting her lip, Chloe admits, "Yeah. Are you mad?"

"I mean, if you wanted to hang out with me, you totally could've just asked," Beca chuckles dryly, "I guess I'm not mad, just kind of sad that you thought you had to pretend to be something you're not."

"You know some people you meet that just make you nervous right away?"

"Yeah, like professors."

"Well, it might be because they look like a serial killer or they're really intense or something."

Beca raises an eyebrow, "What are you trying to say here?"

"You make me nervous, you might've noticed," Chloe plays with the hem of her shirt. "But it's because I like you. Like a lot."

"Well, I guess I can't be mad when you say it like that," Beca says, "Especially since I paid your friend Aubrey to steal your phone and add me as a contact and text me your number."

"What!?"

"Nothing," she plays innocent.

"How do you even know Aubrey?"

"Trade secret."

* * *

"Heads or tails?" One of Beca and Jesse's mutual friends, Donald, has a quarter held in his outstretched palm. "Ladies first."

Chloe decides, "Tails."

Donald flips the coin and as it spins in the air, the crowd surrounding them watches it with bated breath. It lands on heads.

Jesse fist pumps and says, "Young Funk."

Watching the events from the corner, Beca wonders just how good Chloe actually is. The song starts and she watches Chloe hit the first few notes perfectly, even using the whammy bar liberally. Even though Beca should really be seeing how Jesse is faring against his sister, she can't peel her eyes away from Chloe's fingers flying up and down the colored frets.

Beca whispers out the side of her mouth to one of her friends, "Is it wrong to be turned on by this?"

He laughs and tells her, "No, I get it completely."

Jesse's fingers fumble over a hammer on and pull off, and he swears as he tries to regain his equal footing.

In an early celebratory gesture, Chloe knocks her shoulder against his, "You made first mistake, I win!"

"You bumped into me, disqualified!" He yells back.

"Oh fuck this," Chloe says, slipping the guitar off and she runs over to Beca and tugs her to her feet. She lifts Beca off her feet and slightly into the air and kisses her fully on the lips.

Caught by surprise it takes Beca a moment before she wraps her arms around Chloe's neck and deepens the kiss. Even though everyone around them is hollering and cheering, she ignores them.

"Was that a forfeit?" Jesse asks.

Chloe sets Beca back on the floor and grins down at her.

The brunette is blushing, the first time Chloe's ever seen her do so, "Geez, when I said hitting all the notes isn't what's important, this is not what I meant."

"Hey," Chloe interjects, "I hit some of them and that's what counts, yeah?"

In response, Beca kisses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: Author. Leave a comment if you feel like it.
> 
> For some reason back when I posted this initially I couldn't find a good diagram for the plastic guitars, so here's [one](http://amiphobic.tumblr.com/post/47589491533/extra-from-moirai-guitar-hero-guitar-parts) that I made in Paint apparently.


	8. Still Unwritten

"I just have the worst luck with love," Beca complains to her friend, Denise, relating a particularly horrifying first date. "Is there something wrong with me? Am I too hard to please?"

"Aw, Beca, don't think like that," Denise pats her hand comfortingly. "You're a famous writer, it's expected that some people don't know how to deal with that."

"It would just be great if I could find someone who didn't want to date me for my connections or money," she laments and finishes her salad. The restaurant is bursting with activity, eliciting a wince from Beca.

"Well," Denise checks her watch and realizes she has a meeting with another author in thirty minutes, "Write about this experience. Isn't that what you people do to feel better?" She grins teasingly as she picks up her jacket and signals the waiter to put the meal on her tab.

"Mouthy publishers don't always get my business, Denise!"

Her friend waves the comment off as she departs, "But I manage somehow!"

* * *

Despite her previous protests, Beca considers Denise's words anyway. Even if she can be the most infuriating friend ever, she's usually right.

When Beca arrives home, she pulls out her fully charged laptop and sits on her bed. Music always helps her think so she lazily puts a song on repeat. Her fingers fly over the keys as she types an alternate version of the date she had earlier in the day. As she rereads it, she can't help but feel still a bit disappointed with the results. It lacks substance. Maybe it's not the events of the date, but rather the people on the date. Maybe Bumper really just isn't a good match for her; after all, all he wanted was a connection to get his autobiography published.

With this revelation, she starts over and begins to write of someone with all the ideal traits that appeal to her. Looking over what she's written of this "perfect" love interest for herself, Beca surmises it probably says more about herself than anything. Chuckling absentmindedly, she stows away her laptop as the sun begins to set, splaying red and oranges through the window.

* * *

" _To say her eyes are blue would be like saying the forest is merely composed of a few trees; they are so much more than just blue. Her eyes have a depth that you want to drown in, a knowing that makes your knees go weak, a hidden gem of a sparkle that never dulls."_

The next morning she wakes to the incessant blaring of her alarm clock reminding her of a meeting with Jessica, her friend from high school. Sighing, Beca drags herself out of bed and somehow stumbles into the shower, turning the facet clumsily. About forty-three minutes later, she's showered, dressed, awake and leaving her apartment.

"Beca!"

She's greeted with a tight hug and kiss on the cheek from Jessica who leads her into the bakery. They stand in line waiting to order.

"How did things go with Bumper?"

"Terribly," says Beca, half-exasperated. "Let's not talk about him."

Jessica acquiesces to her request and changes the subject, "How's your new novel coming along?"

"Swimmingly, as in not at all."

With a sympathetic pat on her arm, Jessica pouts, "Writer's block?"

"It's more that I've gotten distracted with online Sudoku," the brunette quirks her mouth at the admittance. "Puzzles that I'm able to solve are my weakness."

After they order, the two women head to their favorite corner to sit. Once Jessica's settled down, Beca heads back to the front counter to get napkins and straws. As she absentmindedly pulls out two straws from a cup full of them, another person joins her at the counter, pouring sugar into a cup of coffee. Beca looks at the person out of the corner of her eyes, sweeping once and then returning to the napkin dispenser. A long beat. Her head whips back to look at the woman next to her.

"Chloe?"

"Yes?" The woman, long red hair framing her face, spins towards her questioningly. "Sorry, do I know you?"

Beca's tongue trips all over the place as she attempts to stutter out something coherent, "I-I wrote you!"

"I don't think I ever got your letter," the woman looks a bit apologetic.

"No, I mean," Beca takes a deep breath, "I wrote you. Like I made you up! Oh my God this is so queerballs. You look exactly like I imagined and, wow."

Raising an eyebrow, Chloe looks at her dubiously, "Are you feeling okay?"

But Beca's still freaking out. Honestly, this has to be dream. How can the woman that she's described as her ideal match be standing in front of her in such accuracy? She looks, talks and moves in the exact way Beca's written. She even has the random name the brunette threw onto the page.

Leaning in conspiratorially, Beca whispers, "Are you real?"

Maybe a bit more than a little affronted and confused she responds, "I'm fairly sure I am."

"This is amazing," Beca marvels mostly to herself.

"Well, I'll see you around then," Chloe waves a farewell awkwardly.

Dashing back to Jessica, Beca tugs her arm, "Jess, Jess!"

"What?"

She looks away from the redhead and whispers out the side of her mouth, "You see that girl with the red hair and blue tank top?"

Jessica squints, "Yes?"

"Okay, this sounds crazy I know," the brunette begins.

"Oh dear."

"But yesterday Denise said I should vent-write because of that awful date with Bumper, and instead I wrote about like the perfect love interest for myself."

"Those are the saddest words I have ever heard from your mouth," Jessica eyes her. "And that includes the time you told the story about the clown in Japan."

"Hear me out," Beca pleads. "I wrote that she was ginger, had blue eyes, was just a bit taller than me, and other details, but you know, more poetically. I just talked to that girl over there and she is exactly like everything I've written, even her name! I think the girl I wrote has come to life."

Of course Jessica's skeptical, but Beca knows it now, that what she's saying is true.

"Ha! I'm just joking," Beca fibs. "It's just an idea for a new book I was going to write, but I guess you don't like it."

The blonde woman lets out a sigh of relief, "You really had me for a moment. Maybe you should be an actress instead." Right at that moment her phone rings and Jessica excuses herself to answer it.

Once her friend is out of sight, Beca pulls out a notepad and pen from her pocket (two things she's gotten used to carrying around) and quickly scrawls a few words on it.

_Chloe looks around in confusion before briskly walking out the bakery doors, her jaw clenching._

Beca looks up just in time to see Chloe turn left and then right before walking outside, her brow furrowed and jaw set tight. Biting her knuckle, Beca tries to keep herself from screaming at the revelation. Just to make sure, she tries one more time, the black ink coloring the white paper.

_Just as the morning sunlight hits her eyes, she raises a hand to shield from the sudden brightness. Remembering something, she pivots and walks back into the bakery._

And Chloe follows every last squiggly word exactly. Although not written down, she picks up her purse from next to the counter, clearly having forgotten it previously.

"Oh my God," Beca breathes.

* * *

" _Copper tresses frame her face in slight waves, soft and wispy tendrils rest on her shoulders. It fills you with an urge to touch, to feel, to run your fingers lightly through the curls and wonder at how devastatingly visceral the color is to the sight."_

What is she to do with this knowledge? With a pounding heart, Beca slams the door of her apartment closed and nearly dives for her laptop, pulling up the document regarding Chloe. Is this a special power she's just discovered? Or does this only apply to Chloe? Fingers trembling, she types a few more words in a new document.

_A helicopter flew over Manhattan, dangerously close to West Towers, barely missing the window of the sixteenth floor._

Beca waits a few minutes before concluding that no, she does not have the power to make everything come true. What a pessimistic thought.

"Okay," she breathes shallowly to herself.

_Chloe walks up to the sixteenth floor of West Towers and rings the doorbell cautiously, one hand pressed-_

At precisely that moment, Beca's typing is interrupted by a faint ding. Her breath erratic, she opens the door to reveal the redhead who has one hand laid casually on the wall.

"Hey," Beca's a bit breathless.

"You forgot your phone at the bakery," Chloe smiles and hands her the device.

Taking the phone from her, Beca laughs nervously, "Thanks, I guess I was just in a hurry." A pause. "Do you want to come in?"

"No, I really have to go, but thanks for the offer," and her smile is exactly like Beca's imagined. Simple, sweet and melting. As she turns away, Beca shuts the door, but then changes her mind and leaves it open a small crack. Running back to her laptop, Beca tugs it onto a nearby table and quickly types into the previous document, one ear listening intently for sounds outside her door.

_After a moment of deliberation, Chloe turns back around, her skirt swinging, and hesitantly knocks on the other woman's door. Taking a deep breath she asks-_

Beca hears a knock and is about to open her door when she hears the unmistakable sound of a door across the hall swinging open.

"Hi, I know we've just met, but I was wondering if you wanted to go get coffee with me some time?" Chloe's voice rings clearly through the hallway.

"Shit!" Beca kicks the trashcan nearby. Okay, clearly she has to be more specific. She taps her keyboard furiously, taking care to spell all the words correctly.

"Oh sorry, I'm just asking for a research project regarding dating behavioral patterns," Chloe says, as per Beca's narrative. "Have a lovely day, m'am!"

Then her door is nudged open and Beca practically tosses her laptop across the room onto her couch.

"Hi!"

Amusedly, Chloe shrugs, "I changed my mind. Let's hang some time."

* * *

" _There's an openness to her expression, an obvious vulnerability, that manifests itself in her smile and mannerisms. It makes you wonder if she's really flesh and bones, if she's as human as you are, if she has secrets."_

After a bit of discussion, they decide to have a dinner date at a local restaurant, low key, but not trashy. Beca decides not to write anything beforehand, but she is still an author after all, so she has a notepad shoved in her purse in case of emergency.

"I've never been here before," Chloe notes as they sit down. That makes Beca really think. Does Chloe have a past? Are the blanks simply filled in if Beca hasn't written something? If Beca writes that Chloe has been here before, does that actually become true? Did Chloe exist before Beca wrote about her?

"Uh, the salmon's good," she replies, for lack of response as questions whiz around in her mind.

Smoothing down her teal dress, Chloe flips through the menu nonchalantly and hums something quietly. Mirroring the other woman's actions, Beca trails her finger down the choices. There's a long silence before Beca finally decides to ask, "Where are you from?"

"Toronto," is the surprising reply. "And you?"

"Georgia."

There's another long silence before the waiter comes to take their order. Beca excuses herself to the bathroom and takes her purse with her.

God.

She leans against the wall of the restroom and pulls out her cellphone quickly dialing a number she's known by heart for more than half her life.

" _You got Jesse._ "

"Dude, I'm wigged out," Beca admits, her head banging the wall.

" _Whoa there, start from the beginning,_ " and as always, his voice is calm and soothing and makes her feel slightly better already.

If anyone would ever believe this ridiculous situation, that person would be Jesse. What with his love for movies and fantasy books, he'd be more than willing to believe it even if it turned out to be a prank in the end.

"Okay. You remember that movie you made me watch last last Christmas at Benji's?"

" _Love Actually?"_

"The other one," she taps her nails impatiently against the tile.

" _Stranger Than Fiction?_ "

"Yes, that one."

" _What about it?_ " His interest is definitely piqued though; anything movie-related tends to do that to him.

"It is happening to me. Well, I'm Emma Thompson though."

" _What are you talking about?_ " He's laughing. He's fucking laughing, dear God.

Beca panics and begins to ramble, "I wrote down this new character for a story I had in mind and the next day I met her at the bakery! She looks exactly and talks exactly how I imagined. She even has the same name I gave her. Everything I write about her comes true!"

" _That is fucking awesome, Beca! You're not kidding, right?_ "

"No, I swear this is true. I mean, I lied about the janitor on the rollercoaster and One Direction performing in Minnesota, but this is true, I swear!"

" _So what are you going to do?_ "

She's grinding her back teeth rather violently and forces herself to unclench her jaw, "I had her ask me out on a date."

" _Oh no, Beca, really?_ "

"I wrote her as the ultimate love interest for myself, Jesse!"

" _That's really sad_ ," he says, but with a snicker.

"Isn't that what authors do? Create things from nothing?"

" _Just let it go naturally. Stop writing things for her to do. True love is only true if it's genuine, Bex._ "

Beca kicks the wall in frustration, "Damn you conscience. You suck."

" _You should introduce us, Beca. I want to meet h-"_

"Oops, gotta go, bye," Beca hangs up on him midsentence.

* * *

" _Her lips are soft and yielding and so kissable. She has a habit of biting down on her lower lip and it makes you feel unbalanced. The imprint of her lipstick on your neck leaves far more than a stain on your skin. It leaves a stain your heart."_

Despite Jesse's advice, about halfway through the meal Beca really can't take the awkward silences anymore, and she manages to write a few things down on her notepad discretely.

_Chloe and Beca have an incredible date, connecting in a way that they never thought possible._

"So you're a writer?" If possible, Chloe looks a bit shy at the question.

"Yeah," Beca nods, words pouring out of her mouth naturally in a way that confuses her, "I always had a bit of trouble paying attention in school and it was actually because I just had so many ideas. The first time I tried writing a story, it was like I couldn't stop. It really cleared my head." She ducks her head, her cheeks flushing, "Wow, I digress."

"No, that's great," Chloe smiles genuinely. "I think it's interesting that you couldn't contain your thoughts. That your writing simply had to find a release."

"I guess I just feel that writing is meant to be a passion," she replies, looking down to avoid Chloe's piercing eyes. "That if it's not something that you need to pour your soul into, it's empty."

"How poetic," says Chloe teasingly. "Maybe you should be a poet as well."

"You don't have anything in your life like that?" Beca's smiling, a bit embarrassed.

Leaning back in her seat, Chloe regards her carefully, "I do."

"Yeah?"

"I love music," she admits finally. "Life is very quiet without it."

"Indeed," Beca says, finding her eyes meet Chloe's easily now.

* * *

" _She's of average height, maybe a little taller than you, a slight bit on the thin side and she adopts a casual stance whenever she's near you. Everything about her catches you off guard._ "

Beca invites Chloe back to her apartment (no, not for that reason, stop it) after dinner for a drink. As the brunette searches through her cupboards for wine glasses, Chloe takes in her surroundings.

"You have a really nice place," she comments.

Beca's body tenses automatically, wary of revealing exactly how successful of a writer she is. "Uhm, I guess I spend so much time at home that I want it to be comfortable."

"I get that," Chloe nods and points to the stereo, "Can I?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

Her finger presses one of the buttons and she fiddles with a side dial before a song comes on, one that Beca's never had before, but clearly Chloe has.

"I love playing with fire! But I don't want to get burned," Chloe sings, a surprisingly clear and pleasant sound. The surprise must show on Beca's face because the redhead smirks. She dances to the obviously 80s guitar riffs and gestures for Beca to come join her. Reluctantly, the brunette sidles closer to her, Chloe's hands snap to her waist trapping her there as the song changes.

"Okay," Beca laughs, moving her hips hesitantly.

Chloe stomps her foot lightly (fully aware that there are people living below them) and claps her hands in time with the beat. "Come on!"

And they dance to the early hours of the morning, giggling the entire time, wine forgotten.

* * *

" _She's a generally upbeat person, a rose in a field of weeds, blossoming against all odds. Although an optimist, she knows when to draw the line, when expectations and reality cross and also when they diverge."_

Chloe stays overnight (again, no, not for that reason, stop) and Beca insists that she take the couch so the redhead can have the bed. In the morning, the brunette wakes with a sense of (can it be?) content. But as she pads to her study room, she sees Chloe crouched there, reading a piece of torn notebook paper on the ground.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Chloe looks up at her confused, "What is this?"

She hands the paper to Beca who scans it quickly with her eyes. It's the paper from the day at the bakery.

"Okay," Beca feels a bit woozy, and clutches the wall for support. "This is going to sound insane."

"Have you been writing about me?" She looks a tad bit amused if Beca can read her correctly.

"Remember what I said to you on the first day?"

Chloe's eyebrows dip down low as she says, "Something about if I was real and something about writing a letter to me?"

"Have you ever seen the movie, Stranger Than Fiction?" Chloe shakes her head cautiously no. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, Beca collects herself, wondering how to explain this. "Okay, basically, I've never had a good date. Not a single one, until last night. But that day before we met at the bakery, I typed up a description of a person who was basically a compilation of all the qualities that I like the most. And I named her Chloe and in my mind she looked exactly like you."

Expectedly, Chloe's apparent confusion multiplies, "So, you're saying, you somehow wanted someone who looks exactly like me without ever meeting me?"

"I guess," Beca shrugs, "But the weirdest thing is…everything I write about you comes true."

"Like what?"

The brunette ashamedly admits, "Like leaving the bakery and coming back. Like coming to my apartment randomly. Like asking my neighbor out on a date, though that was admittedly an accident, and then…asking me on a date."

She expects Chloe to burst out in rage and scream about being manipulated, but the redhead just shakes her head, "How come you don't think it's the other way around? That everything I do causes you to write it down."

Stuttering, Beca replies, "Because I only write certain things down, not everything you do."

"I guess I'm disappointed, Beca."

"I totally get it," the brunette says, "I'd be angry and feel betr-"

"No," Chloe cuts her off. "I'm not angry. I'm just disappointed that you think I'm only a perfect match for you because you 'wrote' me. I'm disappointed that you didn't have enough faith to let things on our date go naturally." At Beca's gaping fish look, Chloe laughs sarcastically, "Yeah, I noticed you scribbling underneath the table and I can only assume it was something to make the date go better."

"We were just sitting there saying nothing!" Beca attempts to defend herself, knowing fully how it sounds.

"You know nothing on my part changed after you wrote that, Beca," Chloe says pointedly. "The thing that changed was that you started talking more. You started being more open. If you think writing is about changing other people, you obviously forget it's  _your_ passion. Your writing changes yourself more than anything."

She brusquely walks past Beca and out the apartment, the door slamming behind with a sense of finality.

"Argh," Beca kicks a lamp, stubbing her toe. "Ow, ow, ow!"

It's really been too much for the two or three days she's known Chloe. Drama, Jesus Christ.

* * *

" _If there is perfection in the world, there is Chloe, a young green shoot. Her mind is devastatingly complex in the styling of the simplest puzzle._ "

In all honesty, Beca knows Chloe is right. She turns Chloe's words around and around in her head. The whole situation is just impossible. It can't be real, life is just too ordinary for that. She does what she always does when in a tricky condition; she calls Jesse again.

"I need advice."

" _Why, so you can hang up on me again?"_

"I was…on a date, Jesse Swanson!"

He laughs, and she relaxes, " _What's up?_ "

"The girl's mad at me because I may have manipulated her using my writing even though-"

" _Even though I told you not to!"_

"What do I do?"

Jesse hums in consideration for a moment before answering, " _Apologize to her. If she's as amazing as you want her to be, she'll understand._ "

"Apologize," Beca repeats. "Okay. I can do that."

* * *

" _She is kind, in small gestures and quiet words, but no matter how insignificant her compassion seems, it means the world to you._ "

Beca sends a text to Chloe pleading for a chance to apologize in person. The text she receives back is merely an address. Hoping it's not a prank, the brunette immediately waves down a taxi to take her there. One knock on the door of a small bungalow, the door swings open and Chloe looks back at her expectantly. She simply hands the redhead a piece of paper.

_And henceforth, Chloe will never again take instructions from anything that Beca Mitchell writes. And henceforth, Beca Mitchell will not interfere with her own personal life in the form of writing._

"What?"

"I know this isn't what you were expecting," Beca starts off. "And I know you don't believe that I wrote you or made you up. The thing is you really are everything I've written, but I also realize you're so much more too. Look, I've known you for just a few days, but the things that I didn't know about you are the things that I love the most. And you said I had no faith and you're right, I had long given up on finding someone perfect."

"Love isn't about finding someone perfect, Beca," Chloe's voice is surprisingly tender and her expression is sympathetic.

"No, I know," she says, "Is it crazy to have such high expectations? That maybe I expect too much?"

"It's not crazy! You should expect everything from love," and Chloe sounds so fucking earnest that Beca wants to believe. "But it's not about being perfect. You can't erase imperfections like you do on paper. Real love is about compromise, about willing to compromise. You can't wait until you find the so called perfect person to open your heart. You have to open your heart first to get anywhere."

Her words make Beca's heart ache interestingly. A twinge. She has a faint smile on her face.

"Look," Beca admits, "This didn't start out well. And like you said, I can't erase what's happened. So let me take you out again, make it up to you. I thought I knew you because I had written you or something, but I don't know you at all."

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to though. Know you better, that is. And I want you to know me better too."

Chloe nods, a matching smile, "Yeah. I'd like that."

* * *

_Four months later_

"Wait, so what actually happened?" Beca's step-sister, Aubrey, has just returned from her year long trip to Cancun and Beca fills her in on the details of what's happened in the time she's been gone.

"I guess, since Chloe occasionally goes to the bakery, I must've seen her once and just had that imprinted in my mind for a long time."

Aubrey looks at her weirdly, "That doesn't explain all that other crazy stuff."

"I don't know," Beca shrugs, "Maybe the stars aligned? It was all very strange."

"And you're not freaked out that maybe Chloe is just something born of your mind?" Skepticism to the maximum.

"I see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are," Beca merely concludes.

"Did you just quote Pokémon on me?"

"The point is," the brunette cuts in amusedly, "Whatever it is, it's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

"Well, tell me what this dream girl is like."

"She's smart, funny, drop dead gorgeous, considerate, warm…"

"And?"

"She's so much better in person."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: Nun.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel so inclined.


	9. Journey vs Destination

The first thing Beca notices is her bare feet.

Correction: The first thing Beca notices about her is that she has red hair.

Don't get her wrong, she doesn't have a prejudice against gingers, it's just she's never met many. But yes, the first thing she notices is her hair, the slight waves, the sleek reflection (just like a Pantene commercial), the bright vivid color. That's all very well, but then she notices her feet.

This is New York City, a  _city_ , as in bustling with cars and bikes and people and motorcycles, and it's no place for bare feet. There's broken glass, trash, and whatever the hell else that's dangerous to step on. But honestly, it's none of her business, so she reluctantly turns away and continues on her way to the grocery store.

Right at that moment a commotion begins in the middle of the street – barking and yelling and lots of honking horns. Almost in unison with the other pedestrians, Beca swivels towards the noise and her footsteps slow.

_Fuck._

Being short really sucks. Once the crowd disperses enough for her to see what's going on, a police officer is already directing the trouble maker – the barefoot lady – back to the sidewalk. Belatedly Beca notices the woman has a dog (a puppy really) wrapped tightly in her arms. She hands the whining mutt to a man (the owner, Beca assumes) and waves off his thanks with a beam. Not really thinking much about it, Beca raises her camera, the bulky weight comforting against her palms, and snaps a photo of the woman.

Don't get her wrong, she's not a creeper. No, nothing close to that. She's an art student, she likes sketching people and there aren't many people she knows that are interesting to draw (besides her friend Jesse, but only because he looks like a heartthrob who has just walked off the page of a magazine).

Technically it's violating these strangers' privacy, but she doesn't think they'll ever find out, and if it comes down to it, she'll just rip the sketches up, she's not attached to her work.

On both accounts, she's wrong.

* * *

_Three months later_

"They're really quite remarkable," Ms. Banks tells her with an indulging smile.

Beca awkwardly shrugs, her mouth thinned out in a nervous line, "Thanks."

The older woman leaves her alone with the walls and walls of sketches she's drawn. Beca reaches out to several drawings and lets her fingers hover over the lines. She's immensely proud of her project, something she never thought would be this big. At the beginning of the year she'd felt so lost, that maybe this wasn't her little niche in the world. But here she is, on Gallery Night, and she's the featured artist.

"Not exactly the starving painter you imagined," she whispers to herself.

The showing begins and there's spinning lights, booming music, dancing, sloshing drinks, and a faint scent of cigarettes. Despite her reserved nature, Beca still enjoys the night, soaking in the experience.

A large hand shakes hers in a firm grip, introducing himself as, "Trenton Miller."

"Beca Mitchell," she returns, her shoulders tensing at the sight of the towering man in front of her.

"This is your work?" He gestures at the walls with an unreadable expression. Is he impressed? Scornful?

She nods curtly.

"It's ingenious."

Luckily she's never been keen on believing good things said about her or she'd probably be red with embarrassment at the compliment.

"It's okay, yeah" she chuckles, unsure of how to react.

"It really makes you think, I guess," he muses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That all the people we see on the street, the ones that just pass us by, we never really give a thought about them. But I see your sketches and I think, 'Huh, they all have lives too.'"

She's startled by his insight, enough so that she actually laughs, a genuine one. His mouth splits into a wary smile.

"You'd be surprised."

"That one looks like you," she hears a person say to their friend for what must be the umpteenth time. And just as she does every time, she turns to regard the person in question, eyes sweeping up and down. Nope. She'd remember a distinctive face like that.

"It was nice meeting you," Trenton clears his throat, drawing her attention back to him. He shakes her hand one more time before walking away, "Hope to see more from you in the future."

She nods absentmindedly, staring out the floor to ceiling windows.

* * *

"You the artist?"

A high pleasant voice, she decides, before turning around. The speaker's face is familiar and it's only as Beca is answering in the affirmative that she realizes, "You're the barefoot lady."

"Maybe," she smiles, showing her teeth, two perfect rows. There's a few differences from the original photo Beca took of her, for example, her hair is slightly longer and she seems to have gained a little weight, filling out her face better than before.

"It wasn't a question," Beca snorts, a semblance of a grin peeking through her perpetual grimace.

The woman laughs, "Yeah, and?"

"That's all," Beca shrugs and after a short silence, "I drew you."

"You did."

"Yeah, I did. Over there," she points towards a featured portion of the wall, some of her favorite sketches.

"Wasn't a question either," the woman bites her lip, looking at Beca in a way that she can only describe as predatory. Maybe not predatory, but it's unsettling to say in the least.

"Small world," is the only thing Beca can manage.

"You've drawn me beautifully."

"Well, you are beautiful." It's not a pick-up line, heavens no. She's a sketcher, she's drawn hundreds upon hundreds of faces and separating beauty from common is something she has a trained eye for. There's beauty in each face, Beca believes, whether it's a perfect arching eyebrow, an immaculate profile, or simply kind eyes, there exists something magnetic in each face. This woman, the barefoot lady, has big blue eyes that reflect a happiness Beca cannot quite understand, and perhaps her smile too, easy (too easy) and warm (too warm). But yes, the point is, she's beautiful, and that's simply a fact.

The woman's grin never fades, but she looks towards her feet and Beca suspects she's blushing.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Didn't think it would only take one compliment," Beca looks up with dark amusement playing around her mouth.

"So you complimented me for the purpose of extorting a drink?" Her tone is teasing, and the corners of her eyes are carefully crinkled.

"Don't worry, for more than just that."

* * *

Beca senses something moving under her arm and reluctantly flickers her eyes open, instantly raising a hand to shield against the bright rays of morning sun.

"Sorry," the barefoot lady whispers (why is she whispering? Beca's awake now, isn't she?), "Didn't mean to wake you."

"And yet here we are." Beca's voice is gravelly and it basically sounds like she's just woken up after a night of too much booze and sex. Oh wait, that's pretty accurate actually. She shifts under her covers, mostly naked, and wonders how she managed to retrieve her underwear in the dark. Oh. It's not her underwear. Well then.

"Hungry?"

Wait, wait, hold on.  _She_  is the host, why is the barefoot lady asking her if she's hungry?

"Uh," Beca decides hospitality might be in order here. "I can make some pancakes."

"Sounds good," she nods. "You have a shower?"

Beca bites back a sarcastic comment ("No, I just stay filthy.") and points down the hallway.

* * *

They're chewing in silence.

God, this is fucking painful, Beca rolls her eyes internally. This is why she considers one night stands to be glorified awkward sexual encounters.

"Didn't catch your name by the way."

Beca attempts a smirk, "Didn't throw it." Jesus Christ, she's being such a dick, she knows.

"You look like a Tammy," the barefoot lady decides, expression devious.

Well, it works, because Beca grinds her teeth and hisses, "Tammy? Are you out of your mind?"

"I guess that's just what I'll have to call you," she shrugs, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Oh, Tammy!"

"Shut it," Beca glowers. "My name's Beca."

"Beca," she tests on her tongue. "Well, aren't you going to ask me my name?"

"I figure you'll just end up telling me in the end," Beca replies honestly, scratching her fork down the side of the plate.

"So you're an aspiring artist?"

"Some days," she answers cryptically, eyes tracking the movements of the other woman's hands.

The barefoot lady rubs her chin thoughtfully, "Why'd you draw me?"

"I draw a lot of people," Beca finds herself feeling defensive for unknown reasons. She crosses her arms across her chest tightly.

"How do you choose your victims then?" The playfulness in her voice returns, and it makes Beca's fingers flex.

Beca shrugs, "I see a person on the street. Oh, he or she has an interesting or painfully bland face. Bam, I'll draw them."

"So my face is interesting."

"Or painfully bland," she retorts.

The barefoot lady's mouth stretches wide, "I doubt you think that."

Okay, fair point.

"You were walking around barefoot and you didn't look like a hobo," Beca says. "Then you go and save a random puppy off the middle of the street. I had to draw you."

"You had to."

"Yes," Beca squirms under her amused gaze. "Who walks around New York City barefoot anyway."

"I do," she states obviously.

"Wasn't a question."

"It's fun," she continues.

"Okay, tell me your name." It's finally bothering Beca not to know.

"Barefoot lady," she chuckles, taking in Beca's brows drawing down in frustration.

"That's not fair, I told you mine."

The redhead leans forward, maintaining eye contact, and whispers, "I earned it."

"You look like a Samantha," Beca decides, eyes narrowing. "Or a Chloe."

The woman jerks in surprise and her eyes widen.

"Oh." Beca can't tell if she's acting or not. "Is that actually your name?"

"No."

Clear lie.

"Wow. I can't believe I guessed that." Beca settles back into her chair with an air of triumph.

The woman – Chloe – sniffs, "You got lucky."

"I bet I can guess your occupation."

Chloe waves a hand, "Go ahead."

Scrutinizing her, Beca considers, "University student."

"Wrong." Chloe makes the sound of a game show buzzer.

Hm. "Waitress."

"I was once," Chloe acquiesces, "Like five years ago."

Five years, huh? Beca thinks harder, trying to determine her occupation from the clues she's been given so far (none really). "Intern."

"That's very broad."

"So I'm right!"

Chloe shakes her head, grinning. "Nope."

Several guesses later, Beca grows bored of the game and just asks, "What are you then?"

"Unemployed," she sips her coffee casually. "But I was last a nun."

"What?"

A jangle comes from Chloe's pocket and she retrieves her phone, finger swiping over the screen in a practiced motion. She hums, "Hmm, I forgot I have to meet a friend for lunch in an hour."

"But-"

"See you around, maybe," she waves, her other hand reaching for her jacket already.

The door shuts quietly behind her as she leaves. Beca sits in a stunned silence before asking aloud, "A nun?"

* * *

The woman's pretty interesting, Beca will give her that, but she's met interesting people before and she's never felt the need to…connect? Maybe it's an overreaction, but Beca really wants to talk to her again and ask what the hell she meant with the nun comment. A poor joke, perhaps? She knows only three defining things about Chloe: her first name, her occupation, and her appearance. Is that enough to track someone down?

Turns out, no. No, not really.

Beca rubs her eyes tiredly, going through the umpteenth directory of names of people who live near her (and who knows if Chloe is even from around here). She uses the find option on her internet browser to make it go faster, cycling through the various Chloe's. There's so many of them, urgh.

She's too stubborn to give up, but what else can she really do?

* * *

Just when she's about ready to admit defeat, she gets a text from an unknown number. Her thumb hovers over the delete button for a split second, but luckily she holds it.

_Let's make it a two time thing._

Huh. She texts back, "Who is this?" Her words are whispered under her breath as she types.

_Barefoot lady._

Okay. Beca's knee slams into the underside of the table in excitement. Fuck.

But okay. She tries to keep calm.

* * *

It temporarily mystifies her how Chloe's gotten her number, but the moment they meet outside the diner, Beca figures it out.

"You asked the gallery director for my number."

"Maybe," Chloe answers, apparently not minding the lack of greeting.

"Not a question," Beca intones, but leads the way inside.

Chloe slides into one side of the booth and thanks the waitress as she's handed a menu. "Are you complaining?"

"Not yet." Keeping her face stoic, Beca hopes Chloe can't tell that she's been frantically searching for a way to contact Chloe.

"What's good here?"

"Food."

Chloe clicks her tongue disapprovingly, "Well, you're chipper."

"My mind is still reeling from the knowledge that I bedded a nun," she says, clipped.

"Former nun," Chloe corrects without so much as a glance up from the menu.

"Former nun," Beca repeats.

The waitress returns and Chloe orders with a cheerful grin that has the waitress returning it instinctively. Beca mumbles. As the waitress leaves, a long silence stretches between the two of them.

"So you were a nun," Beca tries again.

"Apparently so."

"What's the story there?" She tries not to sound interested, but really, she's quite transparent when it comes to curiosity.

"Well, a nun is-"

"I  _know_ what a nun is," Beca feels slightly insulted. "The robes with the hood…uhm, a habit. And old wrinkled women."

"Thanks," Chloe bites back. "Actually, I wasn't that kind of nun."

"Enlighten me then," Beca mimes a halo over her head.

Chloe shakes her head, but a smile still tugs on the corner of her mouth. "I was the Buddhist kind of nun."

"Oh. Don't you have to shave your head?"

"Hair grows back," Chloe states, her fingers running through her red locks.

Their food arrives, momentarily interrupting the flow of conversation.

"How'd you land that gig?" Beca asks between bites of her sandwich.

"Well," Chloe looks at her thoughtfully, as if cautiously determining whether or not to tell the truth, "I was a spoiled brat."

"Is that a prerequisite?"

"Come on- no, come on, let me finish," Chloe stabs her fork at the salad. "After quitting my job as a waitress and as a maid, my father asked me to choose any job and he'd pull any and all strings to get me it. I protested, but he wouldn't hear of it. When he asked me what my preferred occupation was, I replied, 'None', but he heard, 'Nun.' So he stayed true to his word and contacted some of his old friends and associates in Taiwan."

"No way," Beca laughs in disbelief. "You're lying."

"No, I swear," Chloe nods, completely serious and sincere. "Scout's honor."

"Who even says that anymore."

"I do."

Beca rests her chin on her palm, "Not a question. But honestly, you were actually a nun, like you actually did the whole thing?"

"Yeah," she shrugs. "It was nice."

"And now you're not."

She shakes her head, eyes slanting calculatingly, "And now I'm not."

"Curious."

* * *

After the meal, Beca's halfway to saying farewell when Chloe interrupts.

"Let's go to the park."

"What?"

Chloe repeats herself, enunciating each word carefully, "Let's go to the park."

"Why?"

"Because," she says. Beca shoots her an unamused look. "Because it's fun."

"The park," Beca reiterates in a deadpan voice.

"Yes."

"You can't be serious."

Turns out she is.

* * *

"This is entertaining," Beca drawls sarcastically, sitting on a nearby bench as Chloe lies down on her back, the grass staining the back of her shirt with smears of green.

"I'm cloud-watching," Chloe informs her.

Rolling her eyes, the brunette huffs, "As I said, entertaining. Really."

"Come over here."

"Don't feel like it," Beca's mouth sets itself into a stubborn flat line. She stands up and sifts through her pockets to fumble out a pack of Marlboros. She turns towards the view of the small pond, her fingers curling familiarly around the cigarette. Her left hand flicks the lighter and lights up.

After her first drag, the cigarette is snatched out of her hand and before she has a chance to protest, Chloe takes a deep inhale. Smoke curls out of Chloe's mouth as she makes a face of disgust. Tossing the cigarette away and to the ground, Chloe grounds it out with the heel of her shoe.

"Hey!"

But before she is able to even properly berate Chloe, the redhead maneuvers her against the metal railing overlooking the water below.

"Hush," Chloe whispers as her lips descend onto Beca's and she carefully angles her face to the side for better access.

"Don't tell me what to do," Beca attempts to say, but her words are swallowed by Chloe's mouth. Chloe presses her harder against the railing and her back aches with the pressure, but it only spurs Beca to kiss Chloe more firmly. Chloe might be weird and kind of insane, but she's a great kisser, which is something that Beca willingly concedes.

Beca feels Chloe's warm fingers slipping down to play with the hem of her shirt and moments later, Chloe pushes Beca's shirt up slightly, enough to expose a small strip of her stomach and waist. Chloe's thumbs rub comforting circles against her bared hipbones, a motion that sends a thrill through Beca's body.

"Come over there and watch clouds with me," Chloe hums contentedly, pulling away and examining Beca's expression – eyes drifting closed in bliss.

"After that?" Honestly, Beca's slightly annoyed that she doesn't feel more annoyed at Chloe for trying to manipulate her into doing something boring and dumb. "Not a chance that I'm not taking you home right now."

Chloe's pleased smile indicates that she doesn't mind the alternative to cloud watching either.

* * *

"Let's order in," Chloe suggests several hours later, latching onto Beca's earlobe with her teeth.

Groaning, Beca replies, "If you keep doing that there will only be eating of a different kind."

Beca's innuendo only causes Chloe to giggle, but she relents anyway. The redhead pads into the kitchen, dialing a restaurant on her phone as she walks. Beca bends down gathering her clothes as Chloe's voice drifts through the halls and she listens as Chloe orders pizza and breadsticks. A few seconds after Chloe's hung up, she walks back to Beca's bedroom and flops onto the bed with a whooshing exhale.

Looking at Chloe's bare feet, Beca thinks back to the day she photographed her. "Why were you walking around without shoes that day?"

There's an evident surprise etched in her face at the question; her shock isn't without reason as Beca rarely talks about anything like that (she keeps the conversation mostly to small talk and flirting).

"I wanted to."

Figures, Beca rolls her eyes. "But why?"

Chloe chews on her bottom lip, worrying it gently, "I guess, I wanted to know what it'd be like."

"Painful," the brunette answers seriously. "I can tell you that even without having tried it."

"It's fun," Chloe insists. "Your feet can touch the grooves and small rocks on the concrete, like that's what the ground is supposed to feel like. It made me feel very primal, very basic, if that makes sense."

"It doesn't," Beca says stubbornly. "Is that what you did as a nun? Walk around barefoot and watch clouds all day?"

"We had cloth shoes and I didn't watch clouds until I moved here."

Maybe it does intrigue Beca, at least, it intrigues her more than she's willing to admit. "What did you do then?"

"Woke up early, meditated, helped out at the hospital, washed clothes, learned chants," Chloe lists off. "There were lots of things to do, it wasn't always scheduled."

"Sounds boring," Beca huffs, pulling her arms through the sleeves of her jacket.

"I thought so at first too," Chloe says. Even though it seems like she wants to say more, she doesn't.

"Want to watch a movie?"

Luckily she says yes.

* * *

Somehow the day has managed to exhaust her, so she blames her vulnerability entirely upon her sleep-deprived self (sleepy Beca tends to be a desperate and whiny infant). According to the green liquid digits of her alarm clock, it's around three in the morning when she hears Chloe's breathing turn into deep consistent inhales and exhales. That's when she finally allows herself to look, to  _really_ look, and to think, to  _really_  think.

There's a beauty to Chloe, she thinks, that extends beyond just physical appearance. She exudes this simple confidence that's all flowing and no stopping, and Beca can't help her amazement at how easily Chloe wears the personality. The arc of Chloe's nose is particularly interesting at this moment for Beca; it's something she wants to trace with the pads of her fingertips and perhaps a pencil on a page. Beca curls her fingers tightly at the instinct to capture the moment. But she doesn't want to wake the redhead up. Something about the current situation feels right and maybe changing it will ruin the momentary perfection (again, sleepy Beca is a sentimental fool).

So she watches.

When Chloe wakes four hours later, a gorgeous process (faint twitches of her eyelashes, shifting of her limbs, warmth and color returning to her face), Beca's still watching with half-lidded eyes.

"Mmm," Chloe hums as she rolls over and takes in the sight of a clearly tired Beca looking at her. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

Interestingly, the spell isn't broken, but rather enhanced by her active presence.

"Did you not sleep at all?" Her voice sounds concerned, Beca notes.

Beca clears her throat, dry from her lack of use, "I want to sketch you."

"You already did," Chloe responds, confused.

"Only your face."

Warily, Chloe surveys her.

And so, running on little to no sleep, Beca collects her trusty pencil and sketchbook.

* * *

"Face towards the window," Beca directs, a bit more awake at the prospect of a new project.

Chloe turns obediently and Beca sets her pencil against the blank page carefully.

"Why don't you take a picture and draw from that?"

Beca starts with Chloe's eyes, sketching her long lashes with sweeping arcs. "It's like walking barefoot."

Looking at her feet, Chloe tries to hide her smile.

"Stop moving."

She lifts her head up again and stands very still.

* * *

Beca doesn't know when she drifts off, but it's dark out when she regains consciousness. Finding herself on the couch, she doesn't exactly recall how she's gotten there. Her fingers tighten around her blanket as she uses her free hand to grope around for the light switch nearby.

As the room illuminates slightly, Chloe – sitting at Beca's dining table – yawns, "Sorry if I woke you."

"Oh," Beca realizes. "You're still here."

"Want me to leave?"

She shakes her head. "How'd I get to the couch?"

"You decided to take a break from sketching and just sort of keeled over on the kitchen counter," Chloe recounts. "So I moved you to the couch."

"Oh."

"You're light," the redhead shrugs, "Wasn't too difficult."

"If you're unemployed, where are you staying?"

Chloe quirks her mouth to the side, "I've been bumming at my friend's place."

"I'm your friend too, yeah."

"Yes."

"Not a question," Beca tells her.

"I thought a vocal affirmation was appropriate," Chloe slides her phone to the edge of the table.

"Well, why don't you bum here?" Beca forces herself to keep her voice light, because honestly it's not a big deal.

Evidently, Chloe finds it amusing, "Asking me to move in on the second date?"

"Just sounds like you need a place to stay and since you've already been sharing my bed…"

Chloe laughs and concedes, "True enough."

Still, Beca catches Chloe looking at her weirdly. "What?"

"I just find you fascinating," Chloe admits nonchalantly, as if it's a normal thing to divulge.

"Me?"

"You seem like the kind of person who likes to keep her own secrets, bury them maybe," Chloe rests her chin on her knuckles. "But you've let me into your life so easily."

"You wormed your way in," Beca retorts. "So that makes you more remarkable than me."

Chloe stands, pushing the chair back gently, and swoops down to press a quick kiss against Beca's cheek.

"We'll have to agree to disagree."

* * *

"I have school tomorrow," Beca groans against Chloe's bare shoulder.

Chloe sighs and rolls off Beca and to the side of the bed. "Fine."

"What do you usually do all day if you don't have school and you don't work?"

Nuzzling Beca's neck, Chloe asks, "Thought you needed to sleep so you can wake up early tomorrow."

"But what do you do?"

"Worried about leaving me all by my lonesome?"

Beca denies that.

"I walk around the city, look for new places to go, look for new experiences to be had, find some odd jobs for cash," Chloe says.

"So you don't have a plan or anything?"

"All roads lead to Rome," she answers cheekily.

"But don't you want a destination?" Beca doesn't really understand how she can be content with just roaming around aimlessly.

"My journey is my destination," Chloe whispers, breath tickling Beca's ear. "What is yours?"

"I want to become a successful artist and…to repay my godfather for everything he's done for me." The conversation is veering dangerously into her personal life, something Beca's not sure she's ready to share.

"What did your godfather do?"

"Helped me out." Beca's lips purse.

Chloe takes the hint. "Go to sleep, Beca."

* * *

It continues like that for several weeks, Beca waking early on the weekdays, only returning home at around dinnertime where Chloe always has a meal prepared for her. It feels almost…domestic, dare she say? During dinner, Chloe entertains her with the stories of her adventures of the day, and sometimes ones of her memories as a nun. For some reason, Beca feels a little awkward, or even uneasy when Chloe talks about her time in Taiwan. On the weekends, they lounge around the apartment mostly fucking around, but also just hanging out (which usually consists of Beca sketching Chloe from various angles), and occasionally Chloe manages to convince Beca to go shopping.

As a testament to how close they've gotten, Beca feels comfortable telling her the little details – where she's from, the name of her first best friend, her favorite color. It's inconsequential, but Beca usually doesn't humor people with this useless information.

But one hot night when Chloe lays with her head on Beca's stomach, she asks Beca, "Tell me about your parents?" And Beca isn't sure she can find it within herself to tell Chloe yet.

She tries to say something, anything, but nothing comes out of her mouth.

Chloe intervenes, "Well, I've told you about my parents, Jacob and Barbra, right?" Without waiting for a real answer, she continues, "But I haven't told you about the time we visited Paris and my mom nearly got arrested for flashing a dude in the street."

Every time Beca freezes up like that, Chloe always shares an insane tale of her own instead and Beca feels simultaneously relieved yet guilty at that. She still feels like a jerk to Chloe sometimes, but the redhead never lets it bother her (or never lets that hurt show), and a huge part of Beca wants to make it up to Chloe.

"My mom," Beca interrupts Chloe's story. "Her name is Judith."

Chloe recovers from her astonishment quickly. "What is she like?"

"She was very strict and hard to please." Beca can hazily picture her mom, mouth set permanently in a disapproving frown. "She hated Swiss cheese and green peppers."

Although Beca's tone is very serious, Chloe still chuckles at the random fact.

"What?" Beca can feel a grin threatening to emerge.

"I think it's interesting that you remember what foods she didn't like."

And it's easier to talk about her mom than she thought.

"Yeah, but she really liked sausage," Beca laughs. "Especially the gardener's sausage."

"Beca!" Chloe beans her over the head with a pillow.

"Hey," Beca tries to dodge the next incoming attack. "What if it wasn't an innuendo?"

"I know you well enough to know that everything with you is an innuendo," Chloe tosses one of the small throw pillows after Beca as well.

"Hey," Beca repeats, grabbing Chloe's wrists and pinning her back to the bed. "Didn't Barbra ever teach you not to throw things in the house?"

"She must've forgot," Chloe's eyes sparkle deviously as she leans up and kisses Beca, teeth catching on Beca's lower lip, dragging her down to the bed.

* * *

"You never told me about your father," Chloe whispers in the aftermath, lazily pulling on a thin shirt.

"He kicked me out when I told him I was gay." She doesn't mean for it to come out as quickly as it does.

There's a moment of silence that terrifies Beca, like maybe Chloe hasn't heard and she'll have to say it again. She counts to three inside her head before looking back at Chloe.

Chloe's brow is furrowed deeply.

"Chloe?"

"He kicked you out."

"Yeah." Even though it's been many years since that day, Beca still can feel her heart clenching with the familiar hurt.

Chloe's eyes look very dull and kind of distant.

"Chloe?"

She lies back and rests her head on Beca's shoulder. "I don't know what to tell you."

"That's okay."

"No," Chloe maintains. "It's not. I can't imagine what kind of father would do that to their own kid. Does he still stand by his decision?"

"Well," Beca sets her chin on top of Chloe's head inhaling her scent (a trace of fruity shampoo is still present). "I haven't seen him in three years, so I don't know."

"That's incredibly sad," she says as she threads her fingers through Beca's.

"It's okay," Beca repeats. "I had my godfather."

"Mr. Swanson, right?"

"Yes."

"He took you in?"

"Yep. He told me I could pass for his son's older sister if I wanted to." Beca muses, "Jesse and I treated each other like siblings already, so it wasn't much of a change."

Chloe shifts her head upwards and pulls Beca down for a bruising kiss.

"Thank you for telling me."

Beca's heart skips a beat, in a cheesy way, but also painfully; it feels like her heart is literally smacking against her ribcage.

* * *

Chloe heads out at about midday to buy groceries and when she returns she finds Beca drawing a large piece with red charcoal.

"Is that a bleeding heart?"

"Well…technically all hearts have blood…"

Shifting the bag into her other arm, Chloe nods, "True. But isn't it a little macabre?"

"Art is macabre," Beca responds, still fixated on her work.

"Not all art."

"My art is macabre," Beca amends.

"I think it's beautiful," Chloe says as she puts away the cans of corn she's bought.

Her words make Beca tense really, because it makes her feel better than it probably should. Beca turns around, wiping her fingers on her stained jeans, and watches Chloe put away the groceries. As Chloe finishes up and places the paper bag in the corner for use as a recycling bag, Beca bends to pick up a small can of black paint.

"Chloe."

"Yah?"

"Come over here."

Chloe doesn't question it and walks over to Beca's side, "What's up?"

"Do you mind getting your fingers dirty?"

Perhaps her wording isn't the best. Chloe laughs, "Haven't minded it so far."

Despite herself, Beca flushes, "Not like that, I mean for the sake of art."

"Isn't it always for the sake of art?" Chloe winks.

Immature. Beca rolls her eyes and just grabs a hold of Chloe's hand, and without further permission she dips Chloe's fingers into the black paint, coating the digits completely.

"This isn't too different," Chloe grins roguishly.

"Grow up," Beca grumbles. She guides Chloe's hand to the heart drawing, dripping dots of black on the cloth laid on the floor, and presses three of Chloe's fingertips against the paper, three matching imprints left behind. Beca proceeds to drag Chloe's hand across the drawing in a diagonal fashion, leaving behind black streaks.

"Done."

"Hm," Chloe stands back to look at the finished product. "It's a bit macabre after all."

"My heart, your fingerprints," Beca shrugs. "I'd think that was less morbid."

"Is this symbolism then?"

Beca is determined not to look at her, "It's art."

* * *

When Beca gets home the next day, Chloe is nowhere to be found. Shifting her backpack to her other shoulder, she pulls out her phone and texts Chloe.

_Where are you?_

Twenty minutes later there's still no reply.

Beca begins to pace.

"What if I said something wrong yesterday? I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't-"

She's so caught up in her muttering she doesn't notice her front door open and only whirls towards the entrance when the door is slammed shut.

"Hey, I just got your text sorry," Chloe says, her arms full with a stack of papers, and kicks her shoes to the side.

"Why all the baby trees?"

Chloe looks down at her mountain of papers and exclaims, "Oh! Oh, well I got a job."

"Huh?"

"Some of us work for a living," Chloe teases, sticking her tongue out.

Beca tries to keep her composure, make it seem like she wasn't just panicking scant moments before. "Yes, well, could've given me a heads up, I was having to debate with myself on what to have for dinner for the first time in weeks."

"Oh no," Chloe mocks. "I'm sure you would've managed just fine, B." She sets the papers down on a nearby coffee table.

"And what is this new job you speak of?"

"You sound like you don't believe me," Chloe notes. "That hurts."

"Well, you're like…you know," Beca gestures at Chloe.

"I don't know."

"I don't know, I didn't think a nun would get a job," she tries to explain.

Chloe narrows her eyes, "Former nun, and-"

"Former nun," Beca concedes.

"Come on," Chloe huffs. "No, really Beca, come on. That's why I can't have a "real" job? That doesn't even make sense."

"Well what is it? Why can't you ever give me a straight answer? It's always gotta be some riddle or some question back, why can't you just  _tell_  me?"

"Why does everything have to be answered? It's okay to not know what the answer is, to not know what you want to do, to not know where you're going!" Beca doesn't even realize they're shouting until Chloe finishes the sentence.

"See, you're doing it now," Beca mumbles, determined to keep her calm.

"Why are you so fixated on the fact that I was a nun anyway? It doesn't matter now, and it certainly didn't matter all the times you fucked me," Chloe has no such qualms about keeping it down.

"Because you're like just, you just go around barefoot, being weird, and quirky, and spontaneous, and perky, and like ooo, look at me I'm so different! Like, I feel like half the things you say you make up for the hell of it."

"Oh, so you think I'm a liar?"

"You're like a character that's just walked right off the screen of an indie movie or something," Beca says. "Like I just spend all this time thinking, 'How can she be real?'"

"What's your point, Beca?"

"My point is that I like you." Her words are tumbling out without anything stringing her thoughts together. It's just a big blob of talking. "My point is that I really like you. I probably love you or something." God, she's babbling. "I love your craziness and I love that you do things on a whim because it's just something that you want at that moment. Jesus Christ, I can't even talk right now. No, scratch everything I just said."

She's breathing heavily, but Chloe stays silent, just listening to her with a indiscernible expression.

"Just forget what I said. My point is that I thought you left because I thought I said something wrong or did something, I don't know. And I just panicked, and I just turned that negative energy on you. Negative energy? What the fuck? I don't know what I'm trying to say. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

Thankfully (yes, God, thankfully), Chloe shuts her up with a heated kiss, teeth bumping none to gently against Beca's. But somehow even that isn't enough.

"I guess I keep thinking about that you've been a nun because- No, because I'm the artist you see, and you're the ex-nun. I'm supposed to be the weird one who does weird things and has people staring at me down the street and has nothing figured out or something. You- you're supposed to be strict and controlling or really religious who knows you're on the path of God or Buddha, or something."

Chloe bites her lip to keep from laughing.

"And it's just, neither of us fit that mold, do we?"

"I think," Chloe begins, Beca's breath catching as she waits for her next words. "I think that's the most I've ever heard you say in one sitting."

"Really, Chloe?"

"And," Chloe holds her hand up. "You seem to know very little about Buddhism."

"Really, Chloe? I just said like all this stuff, I just spilled the contents of my heart out to you and you're just being condescending as shit."

Chloe catches Beca's wrist before she can walk away, and pulls Beca back towards her. "Why do you think I went looking for a job today?"

"Because you want to, or it's a new experience, I don't know!"

"Because I don't want to just bum here," Chloe says and Beca's heart sinks.

"Okay, I get it, you're not interested-"

"I want to live with you, I want to pay my half of the rent," Chloe clarifies.

"Oh."

"I love you, you know."

"You love me."

"Maybe."

"It wasn't a question," Beca bites down on the inside of her cheek.

"Doesn't mean I can't answer it."

And Beca can't help but kiss her.

And she thinks, yes, ever since she snapped that photo of Chloe this was her intended destination. But maybe it's not her only destination after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for the next chapter: Age Gap.
> 
> If you're in the mood, leave a comment.


	10. Mays and Decembers

She sips her vodka with Diet Coke carefully, trying to pace herself. It's still early in the night and there are many more people for her to greet and meet. Adjusting the single strap of her dress, Chloe signals the bartender for another.

"Ms. Beale," a voice comes from behind her, drawing her attention to the speaker.

"Ah, Dr. Mitchell," she shakes his hand firmly, his greying hair and friendly smile both familiar to her. "A pleasant surprise."

"I would imagine it's a surprise to see me here at all," he jokes, referring to his typically anti-social behavior.

"But as I said, a pleasant one," Chloe replies, her small polite smile never leaving her face. "Have you had something to drink yet?"

"Oh, no thank you," he declines. "My wife wouldn't be happy about that."

"How are you, then?" It's common courtesy to ask your father's doctor how he is, isn't it?

"Good, good, you have any summer plans, Ms. Beale?"

Chloe shifts her weight from one foot to the other as inconspicuously as she can manage. "Actually, I'm leaving for a one week trip to London tomorrow."

"Oh, for business or pleasure?"

"To visit family, so I suppose a bit of both," Chloe jokes, laughing as appropriately as she can (a proper lady's laugh, not a guffaw or a roar).

"That's fantastic," Dr. Mitchell nods, sensing that the conversation will quickly run dry.

"Actually, I need someone to water my plants and take out the trash," she mentions. "Do you know anyone who might be able to help me out?"

His eyes light up, "Ah! My daughter would be perfect for that. Unfortunately, she takes after me in regards to her social life, so it'd be good for her to get out once in awhile."

"Really? I wouldn't want to impose on her summer vacation," Chloe simpers, smoothing the back of her dress.

"No trouble at all," Dr. Mitchell insists. "I'll send her over tonight after the event and you can give her instructions and whatnot."

"That sounds great." She then excuses herself to the bathroom quickly.

* * *

Sighing heavily, Chloe removes her heels and tosses them towards the corner of her kitchen (she'll deal with that tomorrow), gently rubbing her sore feet. She feels her public-friendly persona slipping away, and she lets it. What's left is simply her tired and empty feeling shell. Suddenly, the doorbell rings, and with a groan, Chloe rises once more to answer it.

The door creaks open to reveal a relatively short woman (girl, really) with straight brown locks and light grey eyes. She's cute looking for sure, especially standing there, biting her lip, looking unsure of herself.

"Ms. Beale?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Mitchell's daughter," the girl says, her eyes darting from side to side nervously. Oh, Chloe sees the resemblance now. Her high-society woman façade falls into place once more.

"Oh, of course," she exclaims, "Please, come in, come in."

"I can come back tomorrow, you look kind of exhausted," the girl wrings her hands anxiously, Chloe notes. Is she really that intimidating?

"Are you frightened of me?" Chloe tries to look at her kindly, tries to soften her features.

"No," the girl replies automatically, crossing her arms in a defensive posture. "I just don't want to bother you."

"It's no bother," the redhead insists. "Come in, do you want anything to drink?"

"I'm fine."

"Do you have a name?" Chloe smiles coyly, trying to coax the girl out behind her walls. Dr. Mitchell's daughter mumbles in response and Chloe doesn't quite catch it. She finds the girl's shyness endearing, perhaps because she's used to overeager gentlemen spouting nonstop in her face. Setting down her wine glass, Chloe reaches out and pulls on the girl's arms, "I didn't quite catch that."

Letting her arms fall to the side, the girl repeats herself. "Beca. Rebecca Mitchell."

"That's a lovely name," Chloe tells her, fingers lingering on her elbow. "It means captivating in Hebrew, did you know?"

Beca shakes her head, her lips twisting into something of a smile.

"You sure you wouldn't like some wine? I have plenty."

"Ah," Beca stammers. "I'm actually not old enough."

"Oh, my apologies," Chloe says, leaving Beca's side and pouring herself a glass. "I assumed you were older."

"That's fine," Beca twists her foot to the side. "Most people do."

A quick circle around the island of her kitchen and Chloe ends up behind Beca. She reaches out and rests a hand on Beca's shoulder, attempting to put her more at ease, but it only causes the girl to jump. "No need to be so tense," Chloe laughs, soft and sweet (a flirtatious laugh, she knows). "I won't bite."

Too young, she reminds herself. She's probably being predatory and freaking the girl out, Chloe realizes belatedly.

Stuttering madly, Beca manages, "I-I'm not tense."

Chloe looks at her in disappointment (at herself mostly). "Here, I'll write up a list of things that need to be done while I'm away. You don't mind, do you? I know I hated it when  _my_  summer vacation was interrupted."

"That's okay," Beca says. "I mostly read at home anyway."

"You can read here all you like," Chloe offers, knowing the girl is being very generous, even if her father has most likely made her. "Feel free to use this house, read a book, throw a party!"

That causes a small smile to adorn Beca's face. She looks down towards her feet, "I'm not really the partying type."

"No, I didn't peg you as the sort," Chloe teases. "But who knows what is hiding under that shy, serious exterior of yours?" Too young, she reminds herself once more. So she stops and scribbles a quick list on a notepad. "I'll be leaving tomorrow morning at 9 and I'll be back in exactly a week, the 27th, at 5 in the evening. Any questions?"

Beca takes the list from her and reads the items quickly, her eyes scanning. She nods, "Looks good. Have a good trip, Ms. Beale."

"I'm not nearly old enough to be called Ms. Beale," Chloe jokes (though a part of her wonders how old the girl thinks she is). "Please, call me Chloe."

"Sounds good," Beca nods. "I'll get out of the way now."

After she's left, Chloe lets herself relax, leaning against the counter heavily. What was she thinking, being overly friendly with the girl? She can't afford to make a mistake like that, especially not now. Her head thuds against the kitchen cabinets lightly.

* * *

London is more or less the same as she remembers; bustling with activity and a reminder of a painful childhood. She visits her mother and only surviving grandfather at their mansion in Essex. Chloe's mother is as indifferent as ever, uncaring of her husband's dwindling health and barely noticing Chloe's presence.

The days are rainy and miserable, reflecting Chloe's mood, which is strangely the only thing she enjoys about the trip. As expected, she attends several more charity events and balls with her mother, wearing increasingly extravagant gowns. Chloe loses count of the amount of bad jokes she forces herself to laugh at and the number of men who grope a bit too low for her liking as they dance. It's mostly a haze of expensive perfumes, cologne, and alcohol.

On the flight back to the United States, Chloe lays a damp towel over her eyes, stressed from her supposed vacation. Goodness, she'll be so glad to sleep in her bed again, away from her family's craziness.

* * *

Heaving her suitcase from the taxi, Chloe drags it to her front door step and sets it down. She tips the taxi driver handsomely (it's not like she can't afford it) and thanks him for his services. Walking back to her front door, she's placing her key in the keyhole when the door suddenly opens.

She's a little startled to see Beca answering the door, but recovers quickly with a forced smile. "Good evening."

"Let me help you," Beca says, her voice more steady than Chloe remembers. Even with her toothpick arms, Beca manages to lug the suitcase into the house and down the hallway, resting it near the staircase.

As Chloe enters the house, she notes, "You weeded the garden."

"Is that okay?" Beca bites her lip and Chloe has to force herself to look away casually.

"That's more than okay, that was very kind of you," Chloe praises, dropping her keys into the basket in her kitchen.

"I like gardening," the brunette admits.

"Well if you want, you can do some gardening for me, and I'll pay you for your trouble."

Shaking her head, Beca responds, "My dad would never let me."

"You don't have to tell him," Chloe smiles indulgingly. "I would like the company as well." Unconsciously, she's moved forward into Beca's personal space. Playing with the hem of Beca's shirt, Chloe bends her head so she's looking up through her eyelashes at the girl. Beca's eyes look blue today, a greyish blue that smears along the edges. Her breath hitches and Chloe knows she's on the border of something dangerous. "London was so boring," she urges herself away and towards the refrigerator.

"You didn't enjoy your trip?"

"I much prefer the States," Chloe informs her, pulling out some sparkling apple juice she keeps for special (non-alcoholic) circumstances. She pours Beca a glass without asking as she has a feeling the girl will politely refuse if it's offered. "It's not wine," she promises.

Beca finally accepts the drink and takes a cautious sip. "I'm not that young, you know."

Perhaps regretting her word choice already, Beca's ears glow red with embarrassment. Chloe lets a genuinely amused smile show, and she feels her fake and cheery mask cracking. Maybe it isn't too bad to let her guard down in front of this harmless girl.

"I didn't say you were young."

Cocking an eyebrow, Beca gestures at her drink, "Sparkling apple juice. If that doesn't say kid, I don't know what does."

Unprepared for Beca's sudden honesty, Chloe lets loose a quiet snort (her mother would be frowning if she was here). "Would your father kill me if I supplied his daughter with real alcohol then?"

"Like you said," Beca says, suddenly bold, "He doesn't have to know."

"Thank God," Chloe bursts out. "I need alcohol after that trip."

Beca quickly drains her glass and holds it out for Chloe to fill with a white wine.

"Pinot grigio," the redhead tells her.

"I know nothing about wine," Beca admits with a reluctant grin. She looks at Chloe bashfully, biting her lower lip again.

_Too young. Too young. Too young._

She repeats it like a mantra in her head, but Chloe ends up stepping forward anyway, leaning closer to the girl. Curling her fingers around the nearby counter top, Chloe whispers, "It's also called Pinot gris sometimes. Pinot means pinecone in French, and the grapes grow in pinecone shaped clusters." Her fingers reach out and brush by Beca's temple as Chloe pushes tucks Beca's hair behind her ear. "And gris is grey, because the fruit is a greyish blue, a bit like your eyes."

Beca's eyes are focused intently on hers, and her attention makes something burn inside Chloe.

"It was apparently the favorite of Emperor Charles IV. It's also meant to be drank early on, but you can let it age as well," Chloe continues lazily.

The brunette's eyes flicker down Chloe's lips, but quickly snap back up. That small motion has Chloe clenching her fingers tightly into a fist, nails digging into her palm, in an effort to control her feelings. Detracting herself from that line of thought, Chloe takes a large gulp of the wine, the taste searing down her throat. Beca follows suit with a small sip.

Vaguely, Chloe realizes the phone is ringing.

"I should get that."

Beca nods, drawing away quickly.

Chloe walks into the hallway and checks the caller ID. Her mother. She ignores it and walks back to the kitchen. She turns the corner to find that Beca's gone. A part of her is relieved.

_Run home_.

* * *

The next morning, just as Chloe's having her first cup of coffee, the doorbell rings. She opens the door to reveal a slouching Beca in black jeans and a sleeveless white t-shirt.

"Morning," she smiles, slipping back into her default mode, while the sane part of her knows she should get Beca to leave as soon as possible. Beca looks too good to be a mere mortal, and Chloe's never been great about controlling her impulses.

"I'm just going to plant some perennials in the back if you don't mind," Beca jabs her thumb in the general direction.

"Of course not," Chloe shields her eyes from the sunlight. "If you get thirsty, help yourself to some refreshments in the kitchen. I'll be upstairs if you need me."

"Yeah," Beca nods. "Yeah I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Thankfully, Beca doesn't come in. Some part of Chloe knows she would've handled it badly had Beca decided to come up and talk.

Unfortunately, she returns the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. She continues planting flowers all around her backyard, pinks, whites, and purples dotting the landscape. Chloe watches her work from her upstairs studio window. It's a distraction from planning her cousin's wedding, but a welcome one. A few times, Beca catches her staring and simply looks back, challenging, until Chloe looks away or waves.

A week or two passes like that, very easily, with Beca adding in new vines, new chips, and new flowers, and minimal interaction (sometimes she offers Beca lemonade). But Chloe never forgets that her hands itch to smooth back Beca's hair, and she never forgets that she mustn't.

* * *

Halfway through the design of her cousin's wedding dress, Chloe hears the clunking of Beca's boots as she enters the house.

"Chloe?"

She reminds herself not to be too eager and descends the staircase slowly, her feet hitting each stair solidly. "Yes?"

"I, uh, I finished," she says.

"Why don't you sit in the living room with me for a moment?"  _Too young_.

"Sure."

They settle down in the large sofa chairs, sitting directly across from one another, the fireplace in between. "Tell me what you've planted."

"Uhm," Beca tears her gaze away from the grand piano. "I planted azaleas and daisies by the back door and jasmine along the fence."

"Ah, what do they represent?"

"I just chose them because they look nice," the brunette shrugs. "I think azaleas mean abundance and daisies represent innocence."

"And what about the jasmines?"

Beca whispers her answer, and Chloe nearly misses it. "They reminded me of you."

"That's sweet," Chloe says, standing suddenly, because she needs control of her body, and sitting down isn't helping.

Reflexively, Beca stands as well, one hand shoved in her back pocket.

"You're very thoughtful," Chloe continues, noting her line of sight as well. "You play piano?"

Snapping her gaze back to Chloe, Beca mumbles, "Yeah, I guess."

"Why don't you play something for me?"

Beca hesitates.

"Only if you want," Chloe clarifies. "I would love to hear you play."

She nods and navigates her way to the piano, sliding her fingers over the keys as she scoots onto the bench comfortably. Chloe sits down once more, waiting for her to begin. Beca's eyes close momentarily as she runs the pads of her fingers over the black keys and she presses down after a sharp inhale. It's a piece Chloe's never heard before, but Beca plays it confidently and exquisitely.

Watching Beca play is a transformation from the quiet, withdrawn girl to a composed performer. Chloe can feel her heartbeat speeding up in the most cliché way ever, but she understands now, the anticipation, the fear that comes with talking to Beca makes her feel unstable like that. She's thirty-four and Beca is not yet twenty-one, there should be no discussion here.

Beca's hand stretches one last time and she ends with a low C. It would be polite to clap, but Chloe's sitting on her hands to keep them from trembling.

"That was lovely. You were lovely," Chloe's voice is low and sincere, probably the first time she's really let herself be completely honest.

Something changes in Beca at that moment, like she'd been slowly revealing herself in degrees previously, but now it all falls away, the cloak of defense sinking to the ground. Her eyes are clear, instead of stormy, and she walks over to Chloe with deliberate steps. The redhead lets out a ragged exhale as her stomach flips.

"Thank you," Beca whispers, standing in front of Chloe at close proximity, looking down at her. Slowly (painfully), she lowers herself onto Chloe's lap and leans forward to ghost her lips over Chloe's. Chloe swears she's never been as scared as she is in that moment. A pause ensues and then Beca closes the distance, crushing her mouth against Chloe's lips.

The moment Beca's fingers close around Chloe's jaw, the redhead is spurred into action, curling her arm around Beca's back desperately. Her chest constricts and it feels like her breath is being stolen away, like she can't breathe. Beca breaks away momentarily, causing a whine to escape Chloe's mouth, and pulls her shirt off over her head.

_Too young,_  Chloe reminds herself and steadies Beca on top of her lap.

"Beca-"

But she's cut off with another bruising kiss, one that leaves her lips feeling swollen and tender.

"I'm an adult, Chloe," Beca states through heaving gasps. "I can make decisions for myself."

"But are you sure…?"

"I thought about this since the moment I first saw you," Beca whispers, trailing open mouthed kisses up Chloe's neck and along her jaw.

Somehow that statement is so powerfully honest that it makes Chloe forget everything else but Beca's hot breath and the comfortable weight on top of her.

* * *

"It was wrong of me to take advantage of you," Chloe buries her face in her hands, redressed in a simple night gown.

"Stop treating me like I'm a kid," Beca says, pulling the offered sweater on. "I'm twenty, not a teenager."

"I'm thirty-four, Beca! You're my dad's doctor's daughter, and this just isn't right."

"Why does it matter how old we are?" The brunette circles around the bed and cups Chloe's face in her hands. "I wanted to do this, and you did too. That's all that matters."

"What will they think? What will they say?"

"Who?"

Chloe gestures vaguely, "People. My parents. Your parents. I don't know. People."

"Why does it matter what they think?" Beca takes a seat next to Chloe, resting her head on the older woman's shoulder.

"Because they'll talk and they'll judge, Beca," Chloe sighs. "They'll look, they'll laugh, they'll say spiteful things behind our backs. They'll say I manipulated you.

Placing a gentle kiss on Chloe's shoulder, Beca whispers, "They aren't important."

"Then who is important, Beca?"

"You."

Chloe sighs.

Beca looks at her, stormy eyes once again, "Do I frighten you?"

"Yes," Chloe answers. "Yes, I am frightened of how powerless you make me feel, how little control I have around you."

"Do you know what jasmine flowers symbolize?" Beca changes the subject suddenly.

"No."

"Grace and elegance," Beca tells her.

"And that reminds you of me?" Chloe can't help but to chuckle at how wrong her assessment must be.

"Yes," Beca says, kissing Chloe's cheek softly.

And for a moment, Chloe really does feel graceful and elegant.

* * *

And so it continues, quietly and secretly, in the safety of Chloe's home, away from prying eyes. Although Beca is so much younger ( _so much_ ), Chloe nearly forgets her age when they converse. They share more than a few interests: music, philosophy, politics, art. Chloe even wakes one morning to Beca finger painting on her stomach, much to her initial surprise and later amusement (the paint doesn't come out of the sheets). And Chloe thinks she might love her (might).

The longer it goes on, the more convinced she is that age shouldn't matter, that what she's doing is simply natural. And she's content with the way things are.

But Beca isn't.

* * *

"You're going with  _him_ , tonight?"

"I have to, Beca!"

The brunette's voice wavers in anger, "No, you don't. That's the thing, you don't, Chloe, you don't."

"It's just for appearance's sake," Chloe explains patiently. "It's a charity auction, and he's the son of the main benefactor."

"I'm tired of pretending that we aren't a thing," Beca's throat tightens. "I want everyone to know how much I like you, how you make me feel."

"I can't, Beca," Chloe repeats herself for what feels like the millionth time. "I'm the daughter of John Beale, I can't be anything less than perfect, especially not now that his health is failing! He climbed up from nothing, you know? He built every bit of his empire with his own hands, and I can't destroy his connections now. It's a small price to pay to spend the evening in the company of a man who is doing charity work."

"You have me, Chloe," Beca says, her tone desperate. "You have me. Don't go with him."

"Outside, I will be accompanying him, nothing more," Chloe's thumb brushes Beca's cheek familiarly. "And when I come back, in here, I am all yours."

"If you go with him," the tears in her eyes are spilling over, "If you go with him, Chloe, when you get back, I won't be here, and you'll be no one's."

"Are you making an ultimatum?"

"Yes," Beca sniffs, wiping her tears away hurriedly. "Because it kills me to think that you're ashamed."

Chloe looks at her stonily, "Don't be a child, Beca."

"That's exactly it," Beca chokes. "You think I'm a kid, but you're the one being immature here, hiding and sneaking around." She takes a large gulp of air. "Yeah, your parents might not be ecstatic about it at first, but they'll come around."

"You don't know them-"

"Do I make you happy, Chloe?"

Her heart jolts, the question so simple that Chloe knows she has no choice but to respond, "Constantly."

Beca kisses her gently, their mouths lightly pressed together, and Chloe feels like crying too. "Don't be scared."

"It's not that easy," Chloe protests.

"Don't be scared," Beca repeats. "You have me."

And with Beca's arms around her, Chloe wants to believe her words.

* * *

"Daddy?" Chloe knocks on the hospital room door cautiously.

Her father, hair completely white, is lying peacefully alone in the room, tubes going in his nose and other parts of his body. His eyes flutter open at the sound of her voice. "Chloe?"

"Hi," she whispers, afraid of disturbing him more than she already is.

"Come by my bedside," he beckons her towards him frailly. She kneels, clasping his hand tightly. "Are you crying, my child?"

"I want you to meet someone," she turns towards the entrance, as Beca walks in hesitantly, waving awkwardly. "Daddy, that's my girlfriend."

He squints his eyes, straining to make out Beca's face and form. "She looks young."

Chloe laughs, tears still streaming down her face. "She is."

Beca shoots her an indignant look.

"Are you mad at me, Daddy?"

"I am too old and tired to be anything, Chloe."

"I'm tired too," Chloe says, kissing her father's hand. "Tired of pretending to be someone I'm not."

"Then be young, Chloe, while you still are," he croaks, his eyes shutting. "But I am not. I am tired."

There's a gentle snoring from him and Chloe wipes the last remnants of tears away.

* * *

For the first time ever, Beca and Chloe grab lunch in public, ignoring the gaping people when they kiss or hold hands. Throughout the meal, Beca looks intently at Chloe.

Noticing her girlfriend's stare, Chloe asks, "What?"

"I can't believe we're working this out."

"Yeah?" Chloe's amused.

"Are you still scared?"

"Of what?"

Beca gestures around her, "Of this. Of us. Of me."

"Always." Chloe pats her hand. "And what about you? Do I still frighten you?"

"You never frightened me," Beca denies with a snort.

"You were shaking like a leaf when I opened the door that first time."

"I was cold," she continues denying.

"It was seventy degrees."

"I was cold," Beca maintains.

"It's okay to be scared, isn't it?"

More seriously, Beca looks at her simply. "It's a lifelong burden."

* * *

_Epilogue_

"Happy Birthday," Chloe whispers roughly into Beca's ear, wrapping her from behind in a tight embrace, their legs entangled on the bed.

"Mmm, thanks," Beca responds, curling into her front. "Where's my present?"

"We can go out drinking later," Chloe offers. "Since you're finally old enough to legally do it."

"Excuse me for not being a fossil," Beca laughs, kissing Chloe's chin affectionately.

"You're an infant, really."

"Go back to the museum."

Chloe smirks, "I thought age didn't matter to you."

"Only when it suits me," Beca responds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: Fairytale.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel so inclined.


	11. Home Is Magical

Red.

It's a red dawn this morning. The grass is spattered with flecks of crimson and matted down with the weight of fallen soldiers.

She watches impassively from the watchtower as the lone cloaked knight battles valiantly against the multitude of troops. This one is rather persistent, she notes wearily.

"My Lady?" Her handmaiden is looking away from the bloodshed determinedly, as if the situation will cease to exist if she refuses to acknowledge it.

"Yes?"

"This is not a sight for us to-"

"Why is that knight fighting the soldiers, Denise?"

Denise trains her eyes on the horizon opposite of the pandemonium and hesitates. "To rescue you, my Lady."

Beca makes a satisfied noise of encouragement. "So he is fighting for me, correct?"

"Yes, of course, my Lady."

"Then I shall watch," Beca maintains. "He deserves as much."

The knight grunts as he yanks his sword out from the chest of his most recent victim, crimson staining his white cloak. Pivoting on his left heel, his sword curves and catches the last soldier's midriff with a disgusting slice through flesh. With the last adversary dispatched, the knight raises the visor of his tarnished helmet and looks up the intimidating length of the wall.

Surely he isn't a fool enough to try and scale the walls, Beca thinks, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

He shouts up at the Captain of the Guard, "I will be back later, Sir! Prepare another welcoming committee for me, I implore of you."

With that last taunt, he wipes his blade off using a strip of cloth and walks away back in the direction of the woods.

"He is handsome, at least," Denise sniffs, covering her nose with a handkerchief.

"Because that is the most pressing matter at hand," Beca chortles. "Whether my arranged marriage will be to a handsome man or an ugly one."

Denise titters in disapproval.

* * *

Blue.

That's the color of the sky, reminiscent of foaming waves.

The knight returns at noon, issuing a ringing challenge atop his steed, a gorgeous white hrosleonem _,_ a majestic creature with the body of a horse and the head of a lion. The hrosleonem rears up on its hind legs and roars, the sound causing the castle walls to vibrate violently.

"How uncouth," Denise clucks.

Beca watches in fascination as the knight guides his beast towards the gates, clutching the reins in an iron tight grip.

"Send any man to come fight me," the knight shouts. "If he can beat me in a fair fight, then I shall leave and never return to Arretium again. But if I win, Lady Mitchell will accompany me back to her homeland."

Out of the corner of Beca's eye, she sees a slim person in a simple leather jerkin brush past her and step onto the crags of the wall, perching delicately. With a shock, Beca realizes it is a woman, but even more startling is the bow in her hand, and the quiver strapped across her back. The archer secures the bandana tied over her head more tightly, fingers tangling in the knot.

The bow in her left hand is raised, and she nocks an arrow, drawing it back, the string taut. She adjusts her position until she is aiming directly towards the knight below. Denise utters a small shriek, but Beca silences her with a warning look.

The archer's hand releases and the arrow whistles before finding its mark, burying deep into the knight's shoulder, nearly knocking him off his hrosleonem. He lets out a sharp cry of pain before turning his mount towards the direction of the archer, but not before the woman lets loose another arrow that embeds itself into the hrosleonem unprotected side.

Roaring at the sudden irritation in its side, the hrosleonem moves back and forth, attempting to soothe the pain, and nearly pitches the knight off. The woman takes this chance, as the man is vulnerable, and dives off the top of the castle wall. Beca feels her heart stop and her eyes go wide. She rushes to the edge and peers down below.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a gigantic condor swoops down from high in the sky and below just fast enough for the archer to land on its back. Another quickly aimed arrow is shot in the knight's direction, but misses his neck narrowly. As the condor glides nearer to the knight, the hrosleonem rears up and the knight swings his sword swiftly, slashing the archer's leather jerkin, but failing to pierce her skin. Tumbling to the ground, the archer unsheathes two short curved swords and recovers from the fall by flipping to her feet in one fluid motion.

"Halt," the knight says, as he brings his steed back around. "I will not fight a woman. Such would be dishonorable of me."

The archer tilts her head questioningly, "Do you have a name, Sir Knight?"

"I am known as Sir Jesse," the knight responds, revealing his poor background by the lack of surname in his official title. Politely, so as to not have the unfair advantage, he dismounts, his boots hitting the dirt with a thump.

"You swore to uphold the law of your land and protect the weak, did you not?"

"Of course, that is-"

"Well, do not worry, Sir Jesse," she interrupts. "I am not the weak you swore to defend." With that, she spins low and swipes her blades towards Sir Jesse's knees. Unable to stand still without losing both limbs, he brings his sword down with both hands to block the incoming attack.

When the woman's right blade clashes against his, she twirls around quickly, bringing the left one down towards his head in an arc. He attempts to dodge it, but the flat edge of the blade still scrapes down the side of his helmet with a screech. Instinctively turning his head from the impact, Sir Jesse staggers backwards, unwilling to retaliate.

"If you do not fight back, you will die," she states calmly, advancing yet again, her blades rising together.

Conflicted, Sir Jesse raises a gloved hand, "You win, good lady, I will leave in peace and never return."

The archer's gaze doesn't stray from him and his departing hrosleonem until they disappear into the foliage of the forest.

* * *

Brown.

The castle hall is filled with rows and rows of brown tables, dusty glasses of equally brown ale atop them in unruly circles of five. Beca's forehead creases and she tries to keep her expression neutral as the raucous cheers fills the surroundings, a din so loud and incessant that her ears are ringing for long afterwards. The victorious archer is assaulted by her adoring admirers, and she tries to spend a little time talking to each one. Finally, she reaches the throne and kneels before the King of Arretium.

"Your Highness." In closer quarters, Beca realizes her voice has a slight lilt to it, an accent that she cannot quite pin down.

"Rise," he booms, his voice effectively silencing the crowd. "Today, you are the victorious, Chloe from Ra-Gorod of the Eastern Isles." Ah, she's from across the purple sea.

"I only did what I did to bring honor to your house, my King," she stands up, but keeps her eyes lowered respectfully.

"Pah," he dismisses it with a wave of his hand. "Tonight is not the night for talking of honor and duty. Tonight is for celebration!" His voice echoes through the hall and his people stamp their feet against the tile excitedly. "To Chloe of Ra-Gorod!" The king toasts, much to his citizens' approval.

Chloe of Ra-Gorod pulls the bandana from her head and gorgeous red curls spill out. Beca's breath hitches in surprise and she clenches her fist tightly in her handkerchief in an effort to quell the sudden tremors wracking her lungs. The archer tosses the cloth to the side and unbuckles her quiver casually as she approaches Beca's table. Denise's squeak of mild alarm does nothing to calm Beca's suddenly frazzled nerves.

"My Lady," the redheaded woman bows down, one knee against the hard floor.

The first time Beca tries to speak to her, the words dry up in her mouth. Clearing her throat, she tries once more, feeling beyond intimidated, "Come closer?" It's supposed to be a firm order, not a meek request like it comes out.

But Chloe obeys without question, getting to her feet and taking a few confident steps forward before kneeling down once more. At this distance, the archer looks remarkably smaller, perhaps only a little taller than Beca herself. Her figure is lean, much more muscular, but when Beca was taking embroidery and etiquette lessons back in the day, Chloe of Ra-Gorod was most likely aiming at targets, so perhaps it's an unfair comparison.

"Sit by me." There's no one really paying attention to either of them, which is ridiculous as this whole celebration is technically about the two women. Surprised, Chloe looks at her dumbly before acquiescing to this demand as well.

"As you wish, my Lady."

Denise shuffles over and pulls out the chair for the redhead. Murmuring a quiet thanks, Chloe takes her spot there, her back straight and tense. A long silence passes over the two of them, one that Beca cannot bear, but one that she suffers through nevertheless.

Finally, she musters up enough courage to address the archer next to her. Wetting her lips, she asks, "What brings you to Arretium, Chloe of Ra-Gorod?"

A sad smile adorns Chloe's face as she answers, "A chance for glory, I suppose."

"Yet you don't seem to be enjoying much of the glory," Beca notes, pointedly glancing around them at the joyful celebration in stark contrast to Chloe's solemn mood.

"I was sent by the Lord of Ra-Gorod to investigate these foreign lands, the people that inhabit them and the culture they enjoy," Chloe elaborates, her leather-clad fingers flexing.

"And how are you finding it? Peculiar?" She forces herself to survey the rest of the room, as if taking interesting in the activities of the commoners.

Chloe shrugs, "There are many p-peculiar events and behaviors here." Her tongue trips over the uncommon word, but she recovers smoothly.

"Like what?" Beca's eyes can't hide her unabashed curiosity.

"I do not understand why the people of the Southwestern Kingdoms refuse to keep their  _ziel_  close," she answers, her right hand straying to the hilt of her dagger every now and then.

" _Ziel_?" The strange word feels heavy in her mouth, unsuitable and awkward.

"I do not know the word in the Southwestern tongue," Chloe admits, a little embarrassed. "It is here," she clasps a gloved hand against her chest. "It is within."

"Heart?"

"No," Chloe bites her lip, slightly frustrated. "It is part of you. You are one with it. A ghost inside you."

"Soul?"

"Soul?" Chloe repeats, her eyes wide.

"Yes," Beca nods. "What you're describing is a soul."

"My  _ziel_ , my soul is the bird, Dusk. He has to stay outside the castle according to the king," the redhead continues. "In Ra-Gorod, our  _ziel_ is with us always."

That, Beca thinks, explains her unease indoors, and why she seems on the verge of drawing her dagger.

"But here, your  _ziel_  sleep outside. The ulfrbakke sleep chained to the outside posts and the hraena sleep in those open wooden houses."

Listening to her perspective is truly mind opening. "Your  _ziel_  sleep in the same bed as you?"

"Yes, and sometimes we sleep outside on the grass." A genuine smile breaks out across her face, lighting up her expression. Beca struggles to look away, determined to keep the blush hidden.

"The Eastern Isles sound magnificent," Beca manages, focusing in on her hands, clutched in the napkin.

"One day," Chloe lays her hand hesitantly over Beca's, causing the brunette to stiffen a fraction, "You will see the Isles for yourself." Sensing her discomfort, Chloe draws away immediately.

"I doubt it," Beca whispers.

"That is another thing I do not understand about the Southwestern Kingdoms," Chloe blurts after a moment. "How a person can be a guest and a prisoner at the same time."

Her mouth opens in a gape; she's never thought about it. Never thought about it when her parents surrendered her as part of the Prophecy. Never thought about it when she arrived in Arretium and was placed under close surveillance. Never thought about it when the Wizard visited her last year.

"I'm not really a prisoner," Beca half-protests.

"Can you come and go as you'd like?"

"Well, not r-"

"My  _ziel_ is more free than you, even here in the Southwestern Kingdoms," Chloe claims, her tone hushed, as if afraid of offending others.

Beca's lips thin out into a thoughtful line but she doesn't refute the statement.

* * *

Orange.

Sunrise has always been Beca's favorite time of the day. Whether it's the peaceful silence that's occasionally accompanied by a few chirps from the cardinals, or the splaying oranges across the sky, Beca enjoys basking in the early rays of the sun.

It is sunrise when a cloaked figure lands on the edge of her bedroom window. She only notices because his boots clunk dully against the metal ledge.

"Lady Beca of Lutetia of the Southwestern Kingdoms," he greets her, pushing his hood down, revealing darker skin than she's ever seen. He must be from the Far Southern Deserts, she deduces from his appearance.

"And who do I have the honor of…meeting this early in the day?" It's the diplomatic way to talk like this.

"Forgive the intrusion, but I would not have been granted an audience with you otherwise," he says, suddenly kneeling in respect. "I am known as Donald of the Desert."

"Why have you sought me out?"

He looks at her with dark calm eyes and responds, "The Southwestern Kingdoms have let your powers go to waste. I would offer you a chance to join those of us in the Far South, but I'm afraid I have been ordered to bring you back home with me no matter your answer."

At least he's honest; Beca will give him points for that.

"Well, as I have no choice," Beca surmises, and begins to pack her few belongings.

Green.

She doesn't recall the leaves on the trees being this vividly green, bright colors and lights peeking through the shady curtain of trees and branches.

Donald leads the two of them down the path in the woods, him on foot, and her on the stolen hraena. She gently grasps the soft fur of the hraena's head, feeling it give way against her palm. Its long lean body, like a hyena's, stretches languidly, and bends its horse-like head towards the ground.

"What is the Far South like?"

A little startled by her sudden question, Donald's feet hesitate, nearly stumbling. Straightening, he answers her, "It is very hot. Only settlements near bodies of waters can last. Dying of thirst is every man's fear."

"It does not sound much like a home," Beca notes, mostly to herself.

"Perhaps I have not described it well," Donald laughs, turning as the path winds. "The Palace in the Deepest South, or as we call it, Queth, is the most stunning and lavish palace I have ever seen in all my years of travel. Once you have seen Queth, you will never forget that sight for the rest of your days."

"Do you know what my powers are, Donald of the Desert?"

"I have heard only the rumors of it, my Lady."

Beca leans back on the hraena. "I wish I knew what it was exactly."

Curious, Donald asks her, "They say you can raise the dead, Lady Beca, is that true?"

"I have only ever used my powers once," she admits finally. "On accident too. I was forbidden from learning or training."

His brow furrows in confusion, "Why is that?"

"Because of a Prophecy," Beca replies, surprised that he doesn't understand that.

"Then why is everyone fighting over you?"

"It's not everyone," she chuckles.

"You Northerners are interesting people," he comments, a smile splitting open.

"I met an archer yesterday from the Eastern Isles," she informs him for some reason (possibly because she needs to talk about it with  _someone_ ). "She said that their animals sleep with them." His nose scrunches and she realizes her wording is a bit problematic. "I mean, not like that."

His expression lightens a little bit, "The Eastern Isles are the one place I have never been."

"Why is that?"

"It is too rainy for my liking," he says. She can tell there's more to it than he's letting on, but doesn't press it.

* * *

Black.

They walk well into the night and only set up camp when the stars are twinkling in the dark night sky. Donald doesn't risk making a fire, in case of drawing unwanted attention, as he's sure that Arretium soldiers will be out hunting for them. He passes her a handful of dried berries which she munches on gratefully. Not long after, they lie down on their respective sides of the camp and try to catch some shut eye.

Even though Beca's only ever slept on large pomorze feather-beds, the ground is interestingly not as uncomfortable as she'd imagined. The stars and open sky are quite a nice sight to fall asleep to.

When she wakes, it is still dark out and ringing clangs reach her ears. Alarmed, Beca sits up and sees a dark slim figure raining blows in quick succession with their dual swords down on Donald's wooden staff. Only when the assailant spins away from him does the moonlight hit their face, revealing it to be Chloe of Ra-Gorod. Before Beca has a chance to intervene (in the only way she knows how, with words), Donald extends his palms forward and strands of purple ribbons appear in midair wrapping around Chloe's blades.

That must be Desert magic, Beca thinks in awe. Chloe's eyes widen and she quickly drops her blades just as purple flames erupt along the hilt. Quickly dropping into a crouch, she pulls a hunting knife from her boot and throws it at Donald, aiming for his unprotected chest. He reacts instinctively, clenching his fingers down in a fist, but keeps his pointer and middle finger extended. A dark purple circle appears in front of his two fingers, warping the surroundings into a portal. The instant the tip of the knife sinks into the portal, the metal melts away until all that is left is the hilt, which drops to the ground harmlessly.

Chloe lifts her fingers to her mouth and whistles loudly before reaching for the bow strapped around her middle. She nocks an arrow, and as Donald prepares to defend against it, Chloe's condor suddenly swoops down, its claws sinking into the cloth of Donald's shirt. It lifts up and carries him off effortlessly, Donald's shrieks of protest failing to deter it.

"Come, my Lady," Chloe extends a hand to her, hurriedly. "It is time you returned home to Arretium."

Something about the events of the day, perhaps the realization that she has no home really, or the lack of sleep maybe, makes her emotionally weary. She wipes the tears that threaten to spill over from the corner of her eyes, and gets to her feet unsteadily.

"My Lady?"

"I would've liked to see the Desert," Beca whispers wistfully.

"The Desert is awful," Chloe informs her, maybe hoping to make her feel a tiny bit better. "If you want to travel, my homeland is far more beautiful and welcoming."

"Would you take me there then?" She can see it Chloe's eyes too (the same sadness she saw reflected in Donald's), the particular homesickness that aches, but is pinned down by duty.

"Is that not stealing?" Chloe tilts her head to the side. "I cannot take you from the king of Arretium."

"Are people possessions in the Eastern Isles?"

"We do not own very much back home," the redhead acknowledges softly. "But we all belong to one another. Arretium is your home now, so you belong to the king and he belongs to you, no?"

Beca shakes her head, not fully understanding the concept. "My parents sent me to Arretium to fulfill the Wizard's Prophecy."

"Who is the Wizard?"

"No one knows," Beca shrugs. "I never met him. Before I was born he told my parents, the Lord and Lady of Lutetia, that their child would hold a power equal to all of those before her combined. He prophesized that I would ultimately use my powers to cause the demise of the Southwestern Kingdoms. He said the only way to prevent it was to keep me from my home forever."

"Is that why you were in Arretium?"

"My parents didn't want to believe that I would be the reason thousands of people would suffer, so they refused to follow the Wizard's instructions. However, when I was nine, my pet lapus was killed by a stray ulfrbakke and, distraught, I picked it up. I don't know what I was thinking, but I started speaking in the Ancient Tongue, which I had never learned or heard before, I just knew it somehow. My pet lapus came to life once more." Beca recounts carefully, her eyes darkening with sorrow. "My parents were panicked and sent me to Arretium, the nearest and safest kingdom, and I've never been home since."

"Then why did that knight want to take you back home?"

"There are dissenters in Lutetia who refuse to accept my younger brother as the rightful heir to the Lordship and my father is growing frail, or so I hear. My brother can be…cruel. Some would rather I be the Lady of Lutetia than him. I do not think they believe the Prophecy either. Whoever brings me home would also wed me and become Lord of Lutetia."

"Do you think it noble to protect your lands by sacrificing yourself?"

"Is that what I'm doing?" Beca wonders.

"Isn't it?"

"Sacrifice is a choice."

* * *

Yellow.

The wheat fields seem to glow in the dawn and illuminate their surroundings rather magically. Mercifully, Chloe lets them take a reprieve from walking, and sits them down in the middle of the fields, pulling the hraena's head into her lap.

"What will happen to Donald of the Desert?"

Chloe examines her expression closely, "Dusk will take him far away to a different city before returning to me so that he may not follow us."

"I see."

"You do not belong to the people Arretium," Chloe finally states, changing the subject.

"I do not belong to anyone," Beca corrects.

"And you want to visit the Eastern Isles."

"Yes."

Chloe looks at her for a long beat. "Then you shall."

"Really?" Beca straightens, surprised by her sudden agreement.

The redhead touches her shoulder gently, tenderly, a current of darkness running through her body. "You cannot return home without hurting your people, so we shall find you a new home."

Once again, Beca's breathing picks up a bit and the familiar constricting of her throat returns. She feels warm, too warm, and it has nothing to do with the weather. "I-"

Thankfully she's interrupted when Chloe suddenly presses her hand over Beca's mouth. "Shh, listen."

A few moments later she can hear the faint thumping of hooves. Chloe's eyes are wide in alarm and she barely has time to pull Beca sideways into a nearby ditch before a host of armored hraena speed past where they had been sitting scant seconds previously.

* * *

Crimson.

The once yellows and greens are stained with dark red and black. The fields are trampled, dead plants strewn on the ground. Beca walks around the deserted farmlands in horror, Chloe following her closely, both hands never leaving the hilts of her swords.

"Who were those soldiers?"

"They had red banners," Chloe drops to her knees and sifts through the dirt with her fingers, "And rode in lines of two."

"No kingdom in the Southwest is represented by a red banner," Beca insists. "But the Desert people ride on Snaumelos and the East Islanders fly."

"What about the Northerners?"

"My mother is a Northerner," Beca looks a bit miffed at the suggestion.

Chloe shrugs, "Do they have banners and hraena in the North?"

"I have never been there," the brunette admits. "But it is definitely too cold for hraena."

"This is very curious," Chloe comments, standing up again. She tugs at Beca's sleeve, "Get on the hraena, my Lady, we shall have to head to the great city of Ravenna."

Obeying, Beca mounts the beast as gracefully as she can manage, her legs swinging around its back. To her surprise, Chloe follows and sits behind her on the hraena, her arms linking around Beca to hold onto the reins. Beca's lungs refuse to function properly, and she can hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Chloe leans into her and spurs the creature onwards.

It feels like her heart is rattling and humming.

* * *

Purple.

The city of Ravenna (incidentally the largest in all of the Southwestern Kingdoms) is draped in purples, ranging from fuchsia to mauve to eminence. Patiently, Beca explains to Chloe the meaning behind each color and shade, pleased to be teaching her something for once.

"This cloth has an orchid embroidered in the middle," Beca points out. "It is both the color and the flower. It signifies the duality of the government as the people and the people as the government. Ravenna is the only city to have a democracy."

"That is silly," Chloe's nose scrunches up. "To trust the people to know what is best."

Beca laughs at her disgusted expression.

As they approach the docks, Chloe strides ahead and asks a sailor, "Did you hear about what happened in the Arretium Kingdom?"

"Of course," he says, with a callous snort. "The entire Southwestern Kingdoms have been abuzz with accounts of what happened."

"What have you heard?"

"Nothing," he replies, crossing his arms defensively.

Slyly, Chloe flips a single silver coin in the air a few times, his eyes following the movement of the coin.

"They say the dissenters of Lutetia have removed the late Lord Mitchell's son from power and installed a regent ruler. The regent has ordered the Lutetian army to sack Arretium and rescue the Lady Mitchell."

"Lord Mitchell has passed on?" Beca asks, her voice high in disbelief. Chloe grips her upper arm urgently.

"Two moons ago," the sailor looks at her like he thinks she's been living under a rock.

"Do you know what happened at Arretium exactly?"

"Last I heard they were still laying siege to the city," he replies, his eyes still trained on the silver piece.

Chloe nods," Thanks." She flips the coin into the air towards him.

"Also," he says, catching the coin in his palm, "They say the dissenters have gained a wide-spread influence in all of the Southwestern Kingdoms."

"Thank you," Chloe repeats, her thoughts elsewhere now.

They walk away from the docks and towards a nearby tavern.

"Chloe, what should we do?" Beca bites her lip hard, drawing blood.

The redhead looks around, a bit helplessly. "They'll be looking for you, my Lady." After a long beat, she suggests, "Let's get some rest, and then we'll decide what to do."

Numbly, Beca nods.

* * *

She  _knows_  she's dreaming, but everything about the fabrication in her mind is so vivid, so real, so convincing that she can't help but half-believe it. Beca dreams of a great battle at Arretium, soldiers being cut down easily. The scene changes and she's suddenly in the hall of a magnificent castle which she belatedly realizes is her old home in Lutetia. Ten years really changes things, she supposes.

In her dream, Beca is walking towards the throne, a grey haze overtaking her sight rapidly. The man on the throne is an arrogant looking one with dark hair and cold eyes. When he speaks, Beca shivers, for his voice is slimy.

"Anni," he calls out to her. Even though it's a dream, Beca understands that he is addressing her. She walks forward, her legs heavy and chest tight.

"My Lord Regent," she replies in a voice that is not really hers.

"With the fall of Arretium, we shall have our spies and allies in every corner of the Southwestern Kingdoms," he says, his voice clipped. "Soon, we shall have control over all of them!"

"We have awaited this day anxiously, my Lord Regent," she continues, the words also not hers. It's strange, Beca knows, but in that moment she  _is_ Anni.

"We have toiled so long and hard for this day," he continues. "Having to orchestrate the unfortunate deaths of Lord Mitchell and his wife, removing their incompetent son, installing a powerful network of allies, and now, now it will all come to fruition. We only need to rid ourselves of Lady Mitchell and the Kingdom will be ours."

Beca nods, "Our patience has paid off, Sir."

"Anni," the Regent looks at her closely. "Are you alright?"

Inside, she is boiling with anger at this pompous, evil man who has taken everything from her family. It's just a dream but she can feel a glinting control inside of her. Her hands run along the rough belt she is wearing (the body she currently inhabits is much larger and stronger than her own) until her fingers grasp the ridges of a hilt.

" _Qos sinya, zuch hrayn zil tzine._ " Again, the words flow out of her mouth without her meaning to. Her baser instincts tell her that she's speaking the Ancient Tongue. " _Zus muf hrai kun Luoteita._ "

Somehow, just somehow, she understands that she is conveying her displeasure, but not the exact meaning of her words.

The Regent stands, looking alarmed, and calls out, "Guards! Restrain Anni! There is witchcraft at work here."

Several large men charge towards her, but she holds out her palms and they are suspended in midair, harmless. Still chanting in the Ancient Tongue, Beca approaches the cowering regent, her eyes glowing a particular gold.

"Anni! Stop!"

She ignores his pleas. This man has uprooted her family from their home, he clearly deserves no mercy. The stones above the throne begin to rattle dangerously. When he notices them, it is too late.

Beca wakes just as a large rock dismantles from the roof and down onto his head.

* * *

She's screaming, she realizes, her throat raw from the strain.

The door of her room is knocked down flat as Chloe charges in, swords raised and stance ready. Upon realizing that Beca isn't in any immediate physical danger, Chloe sheathes her swords and rushes to the brunette's side.

" _Mijn kvaen_   _enn heimr_ ," Chloe whispers into her ear, as her arms wrap around Beca's body tightly.  _My queen and home._

"I killed the Regent, Chloe!" Her voice is high and hysterical and too loud, but she simply can't control it.

"Shh," Chloe rakes her fingers through Beca's hair soothingly. "It's okay. You were dreaming."

"You don't understand," Beca hiccups, vaguely aware that her cheeks are wet with tears. "It wasn't just a dream." She's more confident now about that fact. "It was like with my lapus. I used magic."

"While you were sleeping?" Chloe looks concerned.

"Yes." She sounds like a crazy woman, Beca acknowledges, but she doesn't know how else to explain it. "I was someone else in the dream, except it wasn't a dream."

"It's okay," Chloe repeats, pressing a kiss to Beca's forehead firmly. "Get some rest."

The place where Chloe's lips touch burns in a slow and consuming way. Beca swallows hard, but lets her eyes drift closed, the events of her "dream" having drained her of energy.

* * *

Red.

As her eyes flutter open in the morning light, Beca sees red, and her heart begins to beat faster in panic. But gradually she calms as she realizes it is merely the gorgeous red of Chloe's hair. She notes with interest that their limbs are tangled together under the warm sheets.

"Chloe."

It takes a few more nudges and hushed questions before the redhead regains consciousness. Blinking confusedly, Chloe asks, "What is it?"

"It is dangerous to stay here," Beca says, pulling her up into a sitting position. "We must leave before we are at risk."

Rubbing her eyes, Chloe disagrees, "We are fine, my Lady."

"Please."

* * *

Purple.

The sea is a rich purple today, but surprisingly clear and mellow as well. Chloe pays the same sailor from yesterday for a trip to the Eastern Isles.

"Did you hear, good lady?" He asks, his expression solemn after she's paid. "They say traitors in all seven Kingdoms murdered their Kings and Lords last night."

Chloe shoots a startled look at Beca.

"They say the Southwestern Kingdoms will fall without their rulers," the sailor continues. "Even the president of Ravenna is afraid, I hear."

"Thank you for this information," Chloe says, tipping him with another silver coin. "It saddens us to hear of the demise of such great Kings and Lords."

As the boat sets sail, Beca turns to Chloe and whispers, "The Regent ordered it. And I killed the Regent, Chloe."

"Perhaps you have the powers of a seer, you merely saw someone kill him," Chloe retorts, still unwillingly to believe it.

"No," Beca maintains. "I could feel myself taking over the man, Anni, and using the Ancient Tongue."

" _Mijn kvaen_   _enn heimr_ , we are leaving these Kingdoms now," Chloe pulls her into a loose embrace from behind. "In the Eastern Isles you will find peace."

"Why do you call me your queen and your home?"

"It is what we say in the Eastern Isles," she explains patiently.

Beca looks into the steady blue of her eyes and leans backwards, her lips capturing Chloe's sweetly. A mad rushing can be heard in her ears. She feels her heart beat solidly, no longer afraid. "I am your home?"

"Yes," Chloe whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "A home does not have to be a place."

"You have always been my home then," Beca replies, only discovering the weight and truth to her words once they are spoken.

And as they sail to the Eastern Isles, Beca does not care that the prophecy is fulfilled, or that the Southwestern Kingdoms are without a tyrant at its head.

She only cares for her home that she's found in Chloe of Ra-Gorod as Dusk circles high above the masts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, the various animals mentioned: hrosleonem (a mix between a horse and a lion, usually used for mounted combat), ulfrbakke (mix between a wolf and a bat, usually used for tracking and hunting), hraena (a mix between a horse and a hyena, used for swift travel), Snaumelos (mix between a snake and a camel, used for desert travel and hunting), pomorze (I forget...but pretty sure it's a mix between a rabbit and a pomeranian, just for maximum fluffiness), lapus (very small rabbit)
> 
> Hint for next chapter: Teacher. Leave a comment if it so suits you.


	12. Wisdom of Love

At a quarter to one, Beca left the Muse, the central office of the music department, and headed towards the Humanities building. The architecture of the older building stood in stark contrast with high arches and fading brick walls. She took a moment to inhale the warm air, the smell of the nearby daisies filling her lungs, and looked up towards the top of the structure. Thirty-two and attending an undergraduate class – certainly not something her eighteen year old self would've hoped for.

She grasped the metal handle of the door, heated metal searing her hand, and pulled. Taking the stairs two at a time, her shoes clicked against the tile, and Beca made her way to the third floor. One, two, three classrooms down she found Room 310. Several students chattered away, occupying half of the seats, and Beca took a seat in the further of the two rows, determinedly avoiding eye contact. She pulled the small desk attached to her seat up and across in front of her, noting the shallow lines that marred the surface.

A woman in a long overcoat entered the room with a stack of books and folders hugged against her chest with one hand and a brown leather briefcase in her other. Her red hair hung in a messy ponytail and her eyes were set like aquamarines.

"Welcome to Intro to Philosophy," the woman, the professor, Beca presumed, said as she laid her belongings down on the oak table in the front of the classroom. "I'm Professor Beale, but feel free to address me as Chloe." She had a slight British accent, obviously suppressed, but evident nevertheless. Although her voice was sweet, high but not irritating, the way she spoke had an air of command.

One by one, the students ceased their conversations and directed their attention to her.

"Excellent," she said with a small smile, surveying the class for the first time. Pulling out a pile of papers from her briefcase, she handed them to the young man to her right, "Take one and pass." She picked up one of the pieces of chalk and pivoted to write on the chalkboard. "What you hold, or will be holding, in your hands is the syllabus for this semester. If you have any questions, just go ahead."

Beca took one of the papers and passed the rest on as instructed. The syllabus didn't really concern her, so she focused on the professor instead.

"Philosophy," Chloe said as she wrote the word on the board and underlined it twice, "comes from Greek;  _philo_  is 'love of' and  _sophia_ is…can anyone guess?"

Several of the more attentive students raised their hands. Beca smiled faintly, a hint of nostalgia rising up, and leaned back.

"Yes, you in the lovely checkered skirt," Chloe pointed. "I apologize in advance, but I am determined to learn all your names, and I ask that you be patient with me."

"Jessica," the girl identified herself and smoothed down her black and white skirt with a pleased expression. "And it means wisdom."

"Precisely! Love of wisdom." Chloe nodded and set her chalk against the board once more. "Now, what is philosophy exactly? Love of wisdom is a tad broad." She looked around with a smirk and said, "No one? Surely, you're not taking this class because you thought it was psychology, are you?"

"Is it the study of beliefs?" one of the students in the back called out.

"Indeed, that is part of it," she answered. Her hand hovered over the board, shaking slightly before writing rapidly in small block letters. "For the purposes of this class, we will define it as the attempt to get to the 'bottom of things' in any field or aspect of life."

Beca copied the given definition into her small notebook, black ink filling the line quickly.

"Fantastic," Chloe said and faced the class once more. "Are there any questions regarding the syllabus? No? Well, I suppose you should introduce yourselves, but that's such dreary business."

A ripple of awkward laughter spread through the room at her comment.

"I don't hear any objections, so I suppose we'll start with Jessica and work our way clockwise. I don't want to keep you too long, it is such a wonderful day outside, so we'll keep it to name, year, and – just to be conforming – why you're taking this class." Chloe said, "Go ahead, Jessica." She pulled out the list of student names and checked one off.

"Hi," Jessica said brightly. "I'm Jessica. I'm a sophomore and I guess I'm taking this class 'cause it just sounded super interesting."

"Those are high expectations for me to live up to," Chloe said in a teasing tone. "Still, a pleasure to meet you, Jessica. Now the gentleman on the right, and so on."

The introductions continued, but Beca didn't bother to remember any of them. From experience, first introductions were always quickly forgotten. When it came to her, she was acutely aware that quite a few students looked at her with interest.

"I go by Beca," she said, her fingers fidgeting. "I'm one of the staff in the music department. I'm just auditing this class. And I'm here because I never got a chance to take a philosophy class, so I thought maybe I missed out the first go around."

"Most definitely," Chloe said, meeting her eyes seriously. "I say this without any bias: philosophy is the most worthwhile field of study. I say this objectively as the department chair," she laughed with the students. "Nonetheless, a pleasure. A fellow dinosaur at last."

Beca grinned and her fingers stilled.

* * *

The professor swept into the classroom the following week in a grey pantsuit despite the nearly hundred degree weather. She tossed her briefcase casually on the table and took a seat beside it, hooking one leg over the other.

"Good afternoon," she greeted. "I hope all the first-years are familiarizing themselves with this new setting and that the rest of you are becoming re-accustomed with this beautiful campus."

Her speech came off as a weird mix of formal and personal to Beca. Perhaps, it added to her philosophy professor persona.

"Let's begin," Chloe said with a quick glance at the clock in the far corner of the room. She stood and wrote on the board in rapid motions. "Before we discuss the readings, I'd like to preface it with a few terms – philosophy jargon if you will. Epistemology, besides being an annoyingly long word, is the nature and origin of knowledge. That is, why and how do we  _know_  that two plus two will always be equated with four as opposed to just opining it?"

Beca copied everything down, including some of the professor's unwritten words.

"Now we philosophers are generally divided into different camps, two of which are relevant today. The rationalists," Chloe spoke excitedly, her voice energetic, "believe that all and/or most knowledge comes from reason and/or intellect." She looked over her shoulder and grinned, "Then we have the empiricists, who call bullshit on the rationalists, and claim that all and/or most knowledge comes from experience. A show of hands, who would be bold enough to declare themselves an empiricist at this point?"

A vast majority of the class raised their hands and Beca withdrew her hand quickly, doubling back on her decision.

"Now how about the rationalists?"

Three or four hands flew up in response. Beca played with her thumb ring.

"In the face of overwhelming adversaries," Chloe smiled, her mouth only revealing her right incisor, "who would like to make a case for the rationalists? No one?"

Beca raised her hand finally, "If our knowledge comes from experience, then why can two children be taught the same thing in the same way, but have a difference in abilities? One kid picks up on math concepts much faster than the other, so at one point maybe that kid knows subtraction before the other does even though they have the same experience."

"Excellent point," Chloe said, nodding. "Anyone want to counter that?"

A multitude of offers this time. Amused, Beca acknowledged that there had never been a shortage of volunteers to disagree with her when she had attended college the first time either.

* * *

Thursday of the third week, Beca stayed behind after class and approached the professor.

"Have you ever seen the Matrix?"

Chloe looked up from her own set of class notes, caught off guard, and flashed a hesitant smile. She said, "Yes, quite the philosophical film, that one."

"The Allegory of the Cave reminded me of that movie," Beca said, unsure of where she was trying to take the conversation.

Luckily, Chloe seemed to catch onto that fact. "Have you heard of Robert Nozick?" Beca shook her head. "Well Nozick suggested a thought experiment: the experience machine. Imagine a machine that could simulate any experience you could possibly want. Say that the technology for this machine is so advanced that you would be unable distinguish the synthetic experiences from real ones."

"So, it's like the Matrix in reverse, blue pill or red pill, right?"

Chloe nodded and said, "But Nozick was more concerned with purely pleasurable experiences. You could choose to climb Mount Everest, or witness Cleopatra's dying moments, or experience your life without sorrow or tragedy. Would you do it?"

Laughing nervously, Beca asked, "Is that rhetorical?"

"No, I'm genuinely interested," Chloe insisted. "I apologize if I've put you on the spot."

"No, it's totally fine," Beca said, twisting her thumb ring. "I don't know, would you?"

"Turnabout is fair play," the professor said. "I suppose for most people, it would depend on the length of the time in the machine and if it had to be served continuously. But if it were for a reasonable amount of time, I would do it in a heartbeat."

"You wouldn't miss teaching?"

"I could have a perfect teaching experience inside the machine."

Beca hums, "But you wouldn't be making a difference in the world, you'd just be lying in a machine."

"Making a difference and wanting to be something other than a floating mass of flesh in a machine," Chloe ticked off her fingers, "are two of Nozick's four reasons to not plug into the machine. Also, human beings tend to want to  _do_  something as opposed to merely having the experience of doing it and lastly, being limited to man-made reality."

"And you'd still want to?"

"I'm a philosopher, and moreover a scholar," Chloe explained, her face lighting up as she spoke. "I always want more; I want to know more, learn more, read more, write more, experience more. In a dream machine like that, I could gain so much, even if the experience is synthetic, at least the knowledge of what sky-diving in New Zealand would feel like would stay with me."

"I guess I'd miss my family, even if I could have the experience of hanging out with my friend or my dad while in the machine, I'd know it wasn't real in my head," Beca said.

"A legitimate concern indeed," Chloe said. "I do apologize, but I don't seem to remember your name. Becky?"

"Beca," she corrected.

"Beca," Chloe repeated, turning the name over in her mouth, trying it on for size. "To tie, or constrict."

Beca laughed, "I've been told."

"Well, I have a faculty meeting in five minutes, but I'd love to continue this conversation some other time. Maybe Thursday after class, or perhaps, more ideally, over coffee?"

"That sounds good," Beca replied honestly.

* * *

Chloe opened class Thursday with, "Let's talk time-travel, my dear students."

"I love your heels, Professor," a girl, Denise, said as she slipped into her seat a few seconds late.

"As do I," Chloe winked. "An excellent segue to today's topic as well." She curled her hand into a fist and erased some of the chalk from the board with the side of her palm. Writing, she spoke, "Say I had my eyes on these gorgeous pair of high-heeled shoes, but I arrived to the store ten minutes after they sold out of my size."

A couple of the guys in the front row snickered at her example, but she fixed them with a level stare.

"Shoes are nothing to joke about, gentlemen." This drew more laughter and several serious nods in agreement from the rest of the students. Chloe cracked a grin finally and continued, "And then a year passes and I've probably mostly forgotten, but not completely of course, about that pair of shoes. Then I see this woman I absolutely hate, a fictional woman, clearly fictional, who happens to be named Andrea." Beca snorted. Chloe said, "And Andrea is wearing those amazing heels that I wanted. Okay, so I'm livid, pissed, if you will, and I decide to build a time machine to go back and make it so I can buy the pair of shoes. Is this trip logically possible? Logically?"

"But if you changed the past, you'd have your shoes in the present and then you would've never gone back in the first place to change it, so it'd…"

"Excellent point, Jesse," Chloe said, as she ran out of room on the chalkboard, and used her hand to erase again. She continued to write in her usual quick manner and continued, "This is known as the Grandfather paradox. If you went back in time and, for some odd reason, killed your grandfather before he sired you, you would enter into a paradox. You no longer exist, but how can someone non-existent commit murder? But if you do exist, your grandfather has not died. And so on."

A dark haired boy in the front raised his hand. "Also, if time travel were possible, where are the time travelers?"

"Splendid," Chloe said, jotting down his objection, "another argument against time traveling. Also causal loop and absurd coincidences following are both additional arguments."

The rest of the lecture was a whirlwind of Chloe walking from one end of the chalkboard to the other, writing and erasing along the way. Beca felt swept along for the ride, impassioned by Chloe's obvious zeal.

"Bottom line," Chloe said, "you can't change the past. And with that gem of wisdom from your extraordinary professor, class is dismissed. Have a marvelous weekend, my dears."

Beca packed her bag, shoving her notebook and pen inside unceremoniously. As she stood to leave, Chloe called out, "Beca."

"Yes?"

She approached the table in the front. Chloe stood and said, "I was wondering if you wanted to take me up on that coffee offer."

"Sure," Beca said, pleasantly surprised that she had remembered.

"Are you free now?"

Beca could go back to the Muse and hunch over her desk reading through applications and transfer requests, or she could go for coffee with the smart and well-dressed professor. It wasn't much of a struggle to choose.

"Yeah."

"Excellent."

* * *

Beca and Chloe found a small table in the corner of the crowded Caribou Coffee to sit at. Envy rose up as Beca watched Chloe effortlessly navigate the coffee shop, an easy grace taking over. She walked like it was a skill she had worked to perfect.

"Have you always known you wanted to teach philosophy?"

Chloe's expression became dreamy, "I knew I wanted to do something with philosophy from the very first class I attended. It was like coming home; it was  _such_  a relief. It was like I had been putting together a jigsaw puzzle together for years and years and there was one piece missing. Philosophy was that last puzzle piece."

"Wow."

"Too much?" Chloe asked. "I'm a bit absorbed with philosophy, I must admit."

"No, honestly, I love your dedication," Beca said. "It's amazing how much energy, no that's not the word, passion, I guess, you have."

"Thank you," Chloe said, a hint of a blush adorning her cheeks. "It's hard to explain it sometimes."

"I feel the same about music," Beca revealed between sips of her latte. "I work in the Muse. I don't teach or play, but, you know, it is what it is."

"What kind of music do you like?"

Beca answered, "I know a lot of people say this, but a little bit of everything." Chloe laughed and Beca hit the table lightly with a matching smile. "It's true."

"Well, what is your ideal music-related profession? Composer?"

"Oh, I'm nowhere near good enough-"

"Nonsense," Chloe said. "Even so, all restrictions aside, talent or otherwise, what would it be?"

Musing, Beca crushed the ice inside her cup and said, "I suppose, a DJ."

"How exotic."

"Exotic?" Beca chuckled. "Hardly."

"I'm not mocking you, darling," Chloe said and her hand rested on top of Beca's gently. "Hm, how wonderful I imagine it would be to mix melodies together even for yourself."

"I could teach you some time, I mean, if you want to," Beca offered.

The professor nodded and withdrew her hand, "I would thoroughly enjoy that."

"I have to get back to work soon," Beca said regretfully, her lips twisting. "But maybe you'd like to grab dinner some time."

"Well, I have papers to revise this weekend, but I'm free the next weekend."

"How about Saturday evening?"

"Excellent."

Beca said, "It's a date." She watched Chloe's face for a reaction.

Cool as ever, Chloe agreed, "It's a date."

Maybe she was simply unfazed by everything, Beca thought.

* * *

A large concert was thrown the next Tuesday which caused Beca to miss the philosophy class. She found herself wondering what Chloe was lecturing about as she directed the musicians to various practice rooms within the Muse. This inevitably led her to sorting through her emotions regarding the professor. There was an undeniable charm that was unique to Chloe and Beca had so far found herself ceaselessly intrigued. There was no use overthinking it at the early stages, but it didn't stop her anyway.

Thursday came around much too slowly for Beca's liking. Had time always moved so slow? Maybe someone was attempting to time travel and the space time continuum now had a huge tear, causing the gap between Tuesday and Thursday to lengthen. Beca laughed out loud in the empty office.

Still, Thursday came around eventually, after all time was continuous. Thursday was the mind and body problem, which was weirdly fascinating to Beca. She found herself going over the assigned reading again and again, trying to find the spots where Chloe would pull meaning out of the text. As Beca approached the professor after class, Chloe packed her things hurriedly.

"My sincerest apologies, Beca, I have another bloody faculty meeting today. The beginning of each semester is always so dreadful. We're still on for Saturday at seven, correct?"

Beca nodded and, unable to hide her amusement, repeated, "Bloody meeting."

"Silly me," Chloe teased, "my British is showing. Anyway, see you Saturday, darling."

"Have fun," Beca said, her smile never fading.

* * *

"Wow," Beca exhaled.

Chloe arrived at the restaurant at precisely seven o'clock, an occurrence that would usually cause Beca to make a witty comment. However, Chloe arrived with her red hair down, flowing down in waves, and she wore a simple dark blue dress. This was apparently enough to render Beca mute.

"You look lovely," Chloe said as she took a seat, and she whipped the napkin to the side and onto her lap.

For a moment, she hesitated to reveal the extent of her interest in the other woman. "You look amazing," Beca said, unable to find another suitable adjective.

"Thank you," Chloe said, already reaching for the menu. "Have you been here before?"

"A few times."

"What do you recommend?"

Beca considered the question before answering, "The salmon is pretty good. Also, sushi, but I don't know if that's your thing."

"It most certainly is," Chloe smiled. "Sushi sounds exquisite."

The waiter took their orders and bustled away soon after. Beca excused herself to the restroom. She wanted to splash her face with water to cool off, but she didn't want to ruin her makeup. Settling instead for pressing a damp towel to her brow, Beca looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"What am I doing?"

Chloe was infinitely interesting and Beca had nothing, absolutely nothing to offer.

"What am I thinking?"

It had been a long time since she had thought like this. Confidence was something she had gained relatively late in life, but gained nonetheless. Now it seemed like she had made no progress since high school. Okay, Beca thought, pull yourself together. She squared her shoulders and walked out back to the table.

As if sensing her sudden crippling fear, Chloe gave her a gentle smile. "Darling, I took the liberty of ordering some champagne if you don't mind."

The term of endearment made Beca's fingers fly to play with her thumb ring. She responded, "Always a yes to champagne."

"A marvelous meal with marvelous company," Chloe toasted her later as the waiter took their mostly empty plates away. "I am a lucky woman tonight indeed."

Beca's lips quirked as she resisted the urge to tell Chloe that she could get even luckier. Sleaze didn't seem Chloe Beale's style.

"Ditto," Beca said, ever the wordsmith.

"How about next time you instruct me in the art of DJing?"

"Really? I mean, sure."

Chloe shrugged and said, "It's only fair that we have an exchange of knowledge, isn't it? And this is bound to raise my reputation at the university." She winked.

They bid each other farewell half an hour later. Chloe leaned in and kissed Beca's cheek and slipped into the taxi. Beca's fingers flew to her cheek where a warmth lingered.

* * *

Tuesday was reason and faith.

"Pascal is a fascinating philosopher. He suggests that belief in God, the Christian God that is, should be based on self-interest. In fact, he believes it to be a bet, a wager." Above the murmuring of some of the students, Chloe continued, "He says if God exists, that those who believe stand to gain an infinite prize, heaven, and those who do not believe are at infinite risk, hell. On the other hand, if God doesn't exist, those who believed in God have lost very little besides less indulgence in sins and simply holding a false belief. Those who didn't believe in God simply gain more indulgence in sins and having the distinct pleasure of being right."

Beca copied the notes painstakingly, forcing herself to focus.

"Probabilities simply don't matter in this view, according to Pascal," Chloe said. "To disbelieve in God, it is a big risk with a minute gain. But as finite beings, the chance for an infinite gain outweighs everything else. So Pascal concludes that it is in our self-interest to believe in God. Thoughts?"

Predictably, a large number of people wanted to weigh in on it.

But Beca was still stuck on the infinite gain part.

* * *

Thursday was aesthetics; while it put to rest many of Beca's worries, it brought up many more. If anything, it only escalated her apprehension for the next date.

"Hume's ultimate conclusion is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but simply, some beholders are better than others," Chloe lectured, going about her usual routine of write and erase. "His criteria for a good judge or critic is someone who is an expert, that is, someone with a great amount of experience and an ability to perceive things with great accuracy. Assiduous training and innate aptitude."

"I think it's sort of an elitist approach," one of the boys, Donald, Beca recalled, said. "Beauty is different across different cultures, especially."

"That's an excellent argument against Hume," Chloe said, and strode to the other end of the blackboard. "I think Hume would have to concede that point, that artistic beauty seems to be related to culture."

"I think beauty for art and people is different," Jessica interjected. "Like we judge them differently. Like some people become uglier or repellent to us if they have qualities we don't like."

"Or the opposite – a person becomes beautiful as we get to know them," Chloe continued Jessica's point. Her eyes connected with Beca's for so quick a moment that Beca nearly missed it. It was a casual sweep of the room, perhaps. Or maybe, Chloe didn't find her attractive and thought of Beca in that moment. When you looked like she did, surely you could afford to be picky, Beca thought. She twisted her thumb ring.

* * *

"Come in," Beca said and opened the door wide.

Chloe entered in casual clothing – t-shirt and jeans. "Shoes, off or on?"

"Off, please."

"Don't want me to lord my height over you?" Chloe grinned knowingly.

Beca said, "Possibly."

"This is a beautiful piano," Chloe said, running the pads of her fingers down the black keys.

"I bought it when I was 19. Had to work for two years to save up for it," Beca said.

"Would you play something for me?"

The brunette swallowed, discretely wiping her sweaty palms on her pants, and said, "Later, maybe."

"I'll hold you to that," Chloe said. When Beca didn't respond, Chloe reached out and intertwined her fingers with Beca's. "What's wrong, darling?"

"Nothing."

Chloe used her free hand to cup under Beca's chin. She tilted Beca's head up and looked her dead in the eyes. Moving slowly, Chloe stood closer and closer to her until Beca could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Satisfied that she had given Beca ample opportunity to withdraw, Chloe slanted her lips over Beca's. Beca's other hand flew up to Chloe's waist.

She finally understood how a finite being could have the opportunity for an infinite gain.

""You're gorgeous," Beca found her words and murmured them against Chloe's mouth.

The corner of her eyes crinkled and she replied, "Aesthetics don't really exist, unless you're taking Hume's side."

Beca's serious expression became lighter. "Do you have to be you all the time?"

"No one I'd rather be right now," Chloe said and kissed her once more. She withdrew. "I hope you've been enjoying class so far."

"I really like it," Beca said, immediately missing the feeling of Chloe's lips on hers. "It's like, I can believe anything when I'm studying philosophy."

"I sympathize completely," Chloe said. "I love who I am with philosophy: open-minded and full of possibilities." Beca laughed, drawing a questioning look from the other woman. "What?"

"You just have this amazing talent of taking my words and molding them into something more elegant," Beca said.

"Who knew rephrasing things pompously was such a turn on," Chloe joked and tucked Beca's hair behind her ear.

"Intelligence is sexy," Beca insisted and surged forward for another kiss. Her arm curled around Chloe's back.

* * *

A week later, Beca's phone rang just as she was packing her things to head home. Upon seeing the caller id:  _Chloe_ , she fumbled to answer it.

"Hello?"

" _Darling, I happen to be on the ground floor of the Muse_."

"Visit your girlfriend at work day?" Beca hazarded a guess. Then she stammered, "I didn't mean girlfriend."

" _If not my girlfriend, then who do I have the honor of speaking to?_ " Chloe asked.

"Was that your way of confirming that we're going to be exclusive?"

" _Yes, my very confusing way of saying that._ "

Beca smiled, her cheeks aching with the action. "So you're downstairs."

" _I want to see my girlfriend in her element_ ," Chloe said.

"I'll come get you then."

"Your carriage awaits, madam," Beca mocked as Chloe hooked her arm around Beca's.

"Oh dear, I seem to have forgotten my glass slippers," Chloe said, dramatically pressing a hand against her chest.

Beca opened the door to one of the nicer practice rooms and led the other woman inside. She relinquished her hold on Chloe's arm and scooted onto the piano bench. Pressing down several keys, Beca patted the spot next to her – an invitation for Chloe to take a seat.

"What songs do you like?"

"I'm partial to ballads," Chloe said.

Beca's fingers danced over the keys, playing a short shanty before melding into a soft rock ballad.

"Any particular song?"

"Mad World," Chloe said.

Raising an eyebrow, Beca transitioned slowly into the melody of the song, adding layers of harmonies as she got the hang of the song.

"Your improvisations are beautiful," Chloe whispered into her ear. "Not enough talent my arse."

She began to sing along with the piano accompaniment. Chloe interrupted the song by bringing Beca's hand up to her lips.

"You're breathtaking," Chloe said, her eyes a muted blue.

Beca smiled. "I thought the existence of aesthetics had been called into question."

Chloe matched her expression and said, "I'm not talking about aesthetics. I'm talking about you, your Form with a capital F, your essence."

"Thank you."

"You're very different when you play and sing," Chloe noted. "You seem more at ease."

"The classroom is your place, the music room is mine," Beca answered. "It's just…my place."

"How articulate," Chloe joked and ducked her head for a kiss. Beca's arms wrapped tightly around Chloe.

* * *

Four days later, Beca called Chloe's cellphone two times and became slightly concerned when she didn't answer a single call. She sent three texts, but didn't want to come off as too clingy or overbearing, and let it simply be. At six in the evening, Beca decided to check up on her at her apartment. She buzzed twice before Chloe answered.

" _Beca?"_  She sounded surprised, almost as if she had forgotten about Beca. That thought caused Beca to turn and twist her thumb ring again.

"Hey."

" _Come up._ "

The machine buzzed loudly and Beca pulled the heavy metal door open. Chloe's door stood open for Beca, and she closed it upon entering.

"Chloe?"

"In the study," Chloe called out.

Beca turned down the hallway into the study room and leaned against the doorway. As usual, Chloe's study was in a state of disarray; books lay opened at different locations in the room, stacks of papers piled up in corners, and several pens were discarded on the carpet.

"You weren't answering your phone, I got worried," Beca said, feeling a bit foolish.

"Oh," Chloe looked up from her laptop. She rummaged through the pockets of her jacket and jeans. "I seem to have misplaced my phone."

"Maybe it's under one of your…" Beca trailed off as she looked around the messy room. "…binders?"

"I apologize, I've been a bit absorbed in my work," Chloe said, her eyes darting back to the screen. "One of my colleagues has just published a fascinating article, and I got a bit sidetracked."

"Oh. Well, I'll leave you to it." Beca said and backed out of the room.

"We'll talk tomorrow," Chloe said, sounding distant.

Beca nodded. She felt a dryness in her throat and swallowed painfully.

* * *

However, Chloe once again didn't answer Beca's calls the next day or the next. Resigned to being ignored, Beca went through work in a terrible mood. Had Chloe already lost interest? Was this her way of breaking up because she wanted to spare Beca the confrontation?

At about nine in the evening, Beca's phone rang. Out of spite, Beca let it ring three times before answering.

"Hi."

Chloe's voice, apologetic and thick with sleep, filtered into her ear, " _I apologize, darling, I got caught up with something again. Do you mind if I come over?_ "

"I'm busy," Beca said, irritated that she had the nerve to use "darling".

" _Oh."_

"It's late, Chloe," Beca said and sighed.

" _Tomorrow then._ "

Beca said, "If you remember I exist."

" _Beca,_ " Chloe said, " _I'm sorry._ "

"Save it, we'll talk about it 'tomorrow'." she said and hung up. Beca tossed her phone towards the end of her sofa and switched it to silent when it rang again. She curled into a ball, pulling one of the blankets around her, and buried her face into the material of the couch.

About an hour later, Beca jolted awake at the sound of the doorbell. She rubbed the sleepiness from her eyes and padded to the door. Through the eyehole, she saw a curtain of red hair shielding a face from view. Beca considered not opening the door, but Chloe had come so far, maybe to set things right or (Beca's chest constricted at the thought) to end things.

"Beca," Chloe said as she walked into the foyer. "I-"

"Just can you explain to me why you couldn't take a few seconds to talk to me, or shoot me a text?"

Chloe swiped several strands of unruly hair out of her vision and said, "I didn't check my phone."

"Is it going to be a regular thing? You talk to me for a week and then ignore me the next?"

"You're-"

"I swear to God, if your next word is 'overreacting'."

Sighing, Chloe reached out to grab Beca's arm. Beca swung her arm out of her grasp.

"I'm sorry. I really am," Chloe said. "Sometimes, I forget there's a world outside of here." She tapped her temple. Beca set her mouth in a straight line. "I'm not perfect, Beca. I've always put my work first and my personal life has, in the past, suffered."

"It's still suffering now," Beca said. "It's not fair of you to start things up between us if you're just going to shut down on me."

"I'm sorry."

Beca said, "I know. You keep saying."

"It's easier when all I have to think about is philosophy. It makes sense to me. The more I think, the more I know." Chloe looked very tired. She said, "People are not logical; I can't sift through the information presented to me and reach any sort of conclusion."

Beca lifted her hand and caressed Chloe's cheek delicately. Leaning down slightly, Chloe rested her forehead against Beca's.

"I love that you love your work," Beca whispered. "I love that you always want more, but I want more too. I don't care if you want some alone time, just don't shut me out. Talk to me. Tell me what you're reading, what you're thinking. I want to know these things."

"You want to hear me babble on about boring philosophy papers?"

"I like listening to you," Beca said and cupped Chloe's cheeks with both her hands. "I want to share moments with you. It reminds me how lucky I am to be with someone as brilliant as you."

Chloe's hands rested on Beca's wrists. "You're…you're like," Chloe stumbled over her words. It was the first time she had done so; she had seemed like an ocean to Beca, vast and fluid, flowing movements and words. Every time she spoke, Chloe had a point A and point B and a clear path drawn out. Helplessly, Chloe looked at her and whispered, "A goddess."

Chloe crushed her lips against Beca's, relief spreading through Beca's shoulders.

"I can live with that," Beca said.

* * *

_Epilogue_

"This exam consists of ten multiple choice and four short answer questions," Chloe said. "You have an hour and half to complete it. Good luck."

Her students obediently opened the exam booklets and began.

Chloe pulled out her phone and switched it to silent in anticipation of rereading a passage from  _Leviathan_. A new text message caught her eye.

_Do I get a final examination as well?_

Chloe answered:  _If we were fated to be together, did we actually make the decision to date? Or does the fact that it's pre-determined take away our free will?_ "

Three minutes later, Beca replied.  _Yes._

Chloe smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: Pirates.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel so inclined.


	13. Fire and Ash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some historical inaccuracies and purposeful misuse of terminology.

It's in July that she first hears of Captain Ash. The name is whispered in the corners of the household, seeping into the floorboards and through the walls. Servants chatter excitedly behind cupped hands, shooting wary looks at her, and she has to pretend to be above it all. Petty gossip is no business of the lady's. Still, she catches bits and pieces of the talk, enough to get the gist, but not enough to sate her curiosity.

"They saw the pirates…"

"…not too far off the coast…"

"…they say it's a  _woman_ …"

"…all the boxes of spice, gone!"

_Captain Ash._

The name is said in half awe and half fear. Chloe imagines a goddess rising above the waves, sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. She absentmindedly daydreams of life as a pirate; the grime and the sea salt and the  _wind through her hair_.

_SNAP!_

Tears filling her eyes, Chloe clenches her fingers against the stinging pain. Her tutor, Ms. Posen, withdraws the ruler she'd used to reprimand Chloe.

"What nonsense has filled your head today, Mistress?"

"Have you heard about…Captain Ash?" Chloe leans forward despite herself.

As expected, Ms. Posen frowns. She says, "That's not a subject fit for your ears."

"It has to do with father's business, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but-"

"I'm his sole heir, so-"

"Heiress," Ms. Posen corrects automatically.

"Heiress," Chloe allows. "So shouldn't I know this type of stuff?"

"You're only seventeen, none of this concerns you. And in any case, your future husband will take care of the business matters," Ms. Posen answers, clipped. "Now please, Mistress, let us return to your studies."

She sighs, a long-suffering one, but complies. Ms. Posen animatedly describes the War of the Roses, the banners and the glory, but Chloe can't stop thinking about corsairs and oceans and fire and  _ash_.

* * *

Of course, she can't just let it rest.

"Father," she says over dinner – chicken and potatoes.

He looks up at her, dabbing his napkin against his greying beard. The long table separating the two of them seems even longer.

"Who is Captain Ash?"

He laughs and says, "Don't worry your pretty little head over that, my dear. Have the servants been telling you tall tales again?"

"I just want to know what happens with the business," she says, fingers curling tightly into the napkin laid on her lap. "Get a feel of the vague details."

At this, he hums, considering her words. Finally, he replies, "Just a petty criminal."

"Is it true that Captain Ash is a woman?"

He continues to humor her and says, "So I've heard. All I know is that this Captain Ash and their crew hijacked one of my ships."

"How?"

"I don't know the specifics," he sighs, signaling the end of his patience.

She wisely stops her line of questioning. It's enough for now.

* * *

And that event would've died down eventually in time, but in August she hears news of the pirate captain once more. The market is always abuzz with noise, but it's almost particularly magnified today. She passes by a pack of sailors as she accompanies the maids for the weekly shopping and she distinctly hears a name carried on a breeze.

_Captain Ash._

And so the intrigue continues.

She stops by the fish vendor and, despite the stench, decides to ask him, "What's this news about pirates?"

He appraises her before answering, "Apparently a raider, name o' Captain Ash or summit, took Beale's ship."

"Why is this particularly newsworthy?" she asks, ignoring the handmaiden's sharp tug on her sleeve.

"It was live cargo," he looks at her pointedly.

"Live cargo…?"

Oh.

The realization etches itself across her face and the fish vendor continues, "Word is this captain sent 'em back."

She nods mutely, taking in the new information.

"You gonna buy 'nything?" he asks, a little annoyed.

Chloe shuffles away quickly with an awkward thanks.

* * *

Her daily tutoring sessions become daydreaming sessions to Ms. Posen's frustration. Honestly how can anyone expect her to focus on history when the present is infinitely more interesting? Her father's absences occur far more frequently and last far longer than before. His excuse is always a cryptic, "Business."

It suits her for now to keep patient; adventure is all well and good to imagine, but it's safer and wiser for it to stay in the fictional realm. So of course, excitement decides to find her.

It's a peaceful afternoon, the birds chirping excitedly in the yew tree just outside her window. Her father is still away for the week and her lessons are finished for the day. Chloe debates going to the docks to watch the sailors work and make merry, but the docks are no place for a-

"Ow!"

Chloe swivels around, looking for the origin of the noise. Under her bed? No. She checks the closet and then the outside hallway. Just as she turns back to her room, a figure clad in a worn overcoat and tricorn hat swoops in through her window. Shocked to the point that she's unable to scream, Chloe clutches her chest with one hand.

"Don't scream," the woman says, brandishing a sword that seems to broadcast a vastly different message. In addition to the coat and hat, the intruder is wearing a bandana that does very little to hide her nearly black hair and also clunky boots that slosh water onto the floorboards.

It's a logical conclusion when Chloe asks, "Lady Ash?"

The woman – Lady Ash presumably – straightens and immediately answers, "No." Chloe cocks an eyebrow disbelievingly.

Upon seeing her skepticism, Lady Ash acquiesces, "Yes." She squints and doubles back, "Maybe." Defensive, alright.

"Well whoever you are," Chloe says, deciding that playing along with the armed woman is the best course of action, "my father is away at the moment, my apologies."

Lady Ash's face breaks into a restrained smile and says, "I'm actually here for you, Ms. Beale."

"Huh?" It's certainly not the most articulate sound she's ever made, but when a dangerous pirate bursts into your room – well, Chloe thinks Ms. Posen will forgive her one slip-up.

"Yes," Lady Ash says, tilting her head up, and examines Chloe. "I'm here to kidnap you." This is all said in a conversational tone.

Oh. Well in that case-

"Can you give me a few minutes to prepare?" Chloe asks. "Emotionally and actually. I should probably pack an extra dress or nightgown. Maybe a history book too? Ms. Posen will be-"

"I'm sorry," Lady Ash interrupts, "but I don't think this is how a kidnapping works." She seems a bit thrown off by Chloe's matching cavalier attitude.

"Oh," she says. "How is it supposed to go then?"

"I…I think you're just supposed to come along."

"No kicking? No screaming?" she injects as much disappointment as she can into her tone.

"Probably for the best that you don't do either."

Chloe quirks her mouth to the side and asks, "Have you even kidnapped anyone before?"

"What? Of course I have."

Crossing her arms, Chloe's eyes narrow critically.

Lady Ash falters.

"Why don't you tell me what you want from Father? I can try and help out."

"Uhm." Lady Ash looks at her suspiciously. "It's an irreconcilable difference, I'm afraid."

"That's a pity," Chloe says. "I was just going to put on some tea if you'd like some."

"No, but thank you for the thought," Lady Ash says, nodding sincerely. "Now we really should be on our way. If you'll oblige…"

Chloe sighs dramatically. "You see, I'd really rather not be kidnapped. If I get kidnapped, I'll fall behind on my studies and then when I return, my father won't let me go out at all or do anything either."

"Well, I sympathize," Lady Ash says, her grey eyes thoughtful. "What do you suggest I do instead? Your father sent mercenaries after my crew, so if I don't take action, morale will fall and my leadership will be challenged."

Chloe hums and considers their predicament. She claps her hands together and says, "How about I give you a map of this month's trade routes? That way I can go about not having been kidnapped and you have something you can bring back for your crew."

Lady Ash nods slowly and says, "That…might work."

"It's settled," Chloe says. "Let me go get the map."

As she moves towards the door, Lady Ash blocks her way and asks, "How do I know you won't go running for help?"

"A lady," Chloe sniffs, "is always true to her word."

"Well I wouldn't want to pit my freedom against your honor, milady," Lady Ash says. "It would put too much pressure on both of us. Why don't you fetch the map and leave it on your windowsill and I'll come back to take it later?"

"Couldn't I simply set up an ambush for you later?"

"I suppose that is a possibility," Lady Ash muses.

"Alright, why don't I order the maids and servants to the first floor so I can practice my singing? Then you can accompany me to my father's study," Chloe says.

"Singing?"

"Yes, music. You know the sort."

Lady Ash shoots her a distrusting look before finally agreeing.

"Denise!" Chloe calls.

Flinching, Lady Ash ducks behind one of the bedposts instinctively.

"Can you herd all the girls to the kitchen?"

"Yes, Miss."

The pirate captain relaxes a tiny bit, tension seeping out of her shoulders. At this distance, Chloe gets a chance to really look at Lady Ash. She's younger than expected, perhaps only a few years older than herself. Additionally, she has surprisingly delicate features for a pirate; tanned from the sun, she has a spatter of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, a light grey speckled with bits of blue and green, dart from side to side. A goddess, perhaps not, but still a very beautiful woman.

"All clear, Miss. I'll be downstairs if you require anything else."

"Thank you," Chloe says through the door. The maid's footsteps fade away to mere creaks on the wooden floors. Chloe gestures for Lady Ash to follow her.

Poking her head out the doorway and confirming that the coast is indeed clear, Chloe begins the journey to the study, the captain close behind.

"As I was walking one morning in May, I spied a young couple a makin' of hay," she sings, her voice loud enough to carry down the hallway and staircase, so the servants can hear. They enter the study and Lady Ash closes the door.

Chloe shuffles through the main drawer of her father's desk and pulls out several scrolls. Unfurling one of them, Lady Ash moves closer to examine the ink.

"Ah," Chloe whispers, "here it is."

"Trade routes," Lady Ash says, fingers tracing over the marked lines.

Realizing that her silence has likely become suspicious, Chloe opens the door a crack and sings out, "Good morning, good morning, good morning said he. O where are you going my pretty lady?"

Lady Ash watches her display with an open interest before pushing gently past her. She dips her tricorn down in a farewell.

"Much obliged, Miss Beale."

Chloe breaks into a grin mid-song and curtsies prettily.

* * *

Understandably, Chloe's bursting to tell anybody who will listen of what's happened, but of course she can't. Not if she wants to stay out of the asylum or deep in the depths of her uncle, the Duke's, castle. So she spends her week in a muted excitement, leg bouncing and fingers trembling at the memory of Lady Ash's visit.

And this too would have faded over time had she not found a small bag tied to her window. Enclosed is a blue silk ribbon and a note:

_My thanks –B_

She's not sure who B is, but the parchment, slightly damp and smelling of sea salt, tips her off.

The smile stretching her lips doesn't leave her that entire day.

* * *

"Good evening, Miss Beale," she's greeted the next evening after dinner without her father once again. She almost misses him (not the usual silence, but his foreboding presence).

Chloe whirls to the window, open, a breeze filtering through. Instead, perched on the railing of her balcony is Lady Ash, coat billowing in the night air.

"Are you here to kidnap me again?"

Lady Ash humors her with a snort and says, "I just wanted to be sure that you got my thank you gift."

Chloe teases, "If you wanted to see me you didn't need such a transparent excuse. All this trouble for little ol' me?"

"Would that be so terrible?" Lady Ash is surprisingly serious, her gaze intent and piercing.

"Who is B?" Chloe asks in lieu of an answer.

"Me."

"I thought you were-"

"Lady Ash?" she asks, laughing. "Did you think that was actually my name?"

Chloe flushes and pouts.

"B is for Beca," Lady Ash says. "My name."

"Well, I got your gift," Chloe says. "Thank you."

"You sing really well," Beca says.

"Thank you," Chloe repeats softly.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just not sure what you want from me this time," Chloe says.

Beca shrugs. "You're a funny girl."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not afraid of me."

Chloe raises an eyebrow, "Why would I ever be afraid? You're quite nice for a pirate, not that I've met many."

"I want to be friends," Beca decides.

"Friends?"

"Chums," she confirms.

Chloe considers it. "I've never been friends with a pirate before."

"First time for everything."

"I'm not sure I can be friends with my father's nemesis, though. It probably violates some unwritten and unspoken code."

Beca tugs her coat tighter and says, "I'm not his nemesis."

"Well, either way, real friends don't attack other friend's father's ships," Chloe maintains.

"What if I give my word that I'll leave your father's ships alone?"

"Why do you want to be my friend so badly?"

"Why not?"

Chloe says, "If you give your word, then yes, we can be friends."

"I give my word," Beca says. "Now, where did you put my present?"

Chloe points to the nearby dresser and pulls one of the small drawers out. Beca moves into her room and takes the dangling blue ribbon from Chloe's fingers.

"May I?" She gestures towards Chloe's head.

"Go ahead."

Beca rakes her fingers gently through Chloe's hair and gathers enough to tie up with the silk ribbon. Chloe's breath hitches at the intimate actions.

"There."

"Thank you," Chloe says, remembering her manners.

Beca's expression turns concerned and concentrated before she moves quickly to the balcony and scales up the wall onto the roof of the house. Chloe moves to follow dumbly, but the quiet knock on her door stops her.

"Miss?"

One of the maids, Jessica, pushes open the door and enters with a candle in hand.

"Yes, Jessica?"

"My apologies, Miss," she says, "I thought I heard someone talking."

"I was just reciting some poetry," Chloe says, the lie slipping out easily.

"Good night, Miss," Jessica says, closing the door.

Chloe walks out onto the balcony and looks up towards the roof. No sign of Lady Ash.

She laughs quietly anyway.

* * *

Another two weeks pass without incident (her father's absences become rather suspicious considering there are a significantly fewer amount of pirate attacks) and although Chloe hopes for another visit, she's also secretly relieved that it's uneventful. A friendship with a notorious pirate captain sounds doomed and foolish. But damn if Beca isn't the most interesting person Chloe's ever met. Aristocrat lords and ladies have nothing on her.

So it's with a confusing mix of happiness and disappointment that Chloe receives her second present from Lady Ash. It's a simple gold bracelet, set with small blue gems (aquamarines, Chloe guesses), that fits perfectly around her wrist.

_Apologies for leaving so abruptly –B._

Chloe feels the urge to slap the smile off her face for fear of seeming like a lovestruck ninny.

* * *

"Did you know French lieutenants don't like it when you try and borrow their excess wealth?"

She closes the door hurriedly and runs onto the small balcony where Beca is already situated casually, leaning against the railing.

"Beca," Chloe greets breathlessly.

"We had to abandon that ship, it's alright though, was a spare junk. I would never abandon my baby though – the Athena's Fury. You have to see it some time."

"Are you…drunk?"

Beca laughs. "No, just rambling a bit."

"It's chilly out, do you want to come inside?"

"Is your father away?"

"Yes."

Beca nods and steps inside, sliding the glass pane shut behind her.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" asks Chloe, stepping back to make room.

"Well, if you let me tell my story…"

"Oh, my deepest apologies," Chloe says, eyes creasing in quiet amusement.

"There I was, in the Bay of Biscay with a pistol and a short knife, my crew members all passed out drunk," Beca recalls, her voice hushed and eyes dark with excitement. "The French Navy sent two ships that were bearing down on us rapidly. So I ordered everyone down below deck and we waited…"

It's nearing dawn by the end of her tale, but Chloe hardly notices.

* * *

Surprisingly, Beca returns the next night with a large grin and a basket of pastries.

"Two visits in a row? My, what a lucky girl I am," Chloe says.

"Well, I wanted to make sure you wouldn't forget me."

"How many people get to meet Lady Ash? I don't think I could forget about you if I tried."

Opening the basket, Beca offers her a Danish and says, "As long as it's a good impression."

"Well, you're not what I imagined you'd be," Chloe says. "I'm not sure if you'll take that in a good or bad way."

"You imagined me?" Beca smirks.

"I had a rough idea what pirates were like," Chloe says, shrugging despite the faint blush across her cheeks. "Like dirty clothes and beards?"

Beca says, "Yeah, that's some of us. No beard here unfortunately."

Chloe cups her hand under Beca's chin playfully. Beca breaks out into a genuine smile.

"Since you know so much about me and my kind already," Beca says, "why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Myself?" Chloe's hand drops. "There's not much to say."

"What's your favorite food?"

"Strawberry shortcake."

"Age?"

"18 in November."

"See? There's a lot to be said," Beca says.

"I'm not an interesting person," Chloe insists.

"You basically talked me out of kidnapping you," Beca says. "I think that warrants more than a title of merely interesting. I'd say pretty damn amazing."

Chloe flushes despite herself. "Well I was born right here in this house," she says. "My mother didn't make it unfortunately."

Beca's thumb brushes across the back of her wrist.

"And I've been here ever since. I guess I study and paint and sing most days."

A comfortable silence settles between the two of them.

"Do you want to see my ship?" Beca asks out of the blue.

"What? Now?"

"Yeah, no one will notice," Beca says. "We'll be quiet. And quick."

Chloe bites her lip and considers the proposal. Beca crooks a convincing smile.

"Okay."

* * *

Sneaking out of the house is easier said than done. At least, that's what Chloe thinks the narration of her foray into adventuring should be. While Beca can agilely climb onto the roof (as proven per previous encounters), Chloe cannot and refuses to even try. She likes all her parts intact, thank you very much. Although Beca sighs and grumbles about it, she seems to have prepared for the event all along. She pulls out a length of rope from seemingly nowhere and wraps it snugly around Chloe's waist.

"I don't want to die," Chloe whispers several times.

Beca rolls her eyes and says, "If I wanted to kill you, I'd find a more efficient way."

"That's comforting."

"You'll be fine," Beca says. She leans forward and kisses Chloe's cheek as an afterthought. "For luck."

The place where her lips met Chloe's skin burns in tiny pinpricks of heat. Instead of focusing on that, Chloe says, "For luck? Are you saying I'm going to need luck for this?" There's enough fake panic in her question that it detracts from the small peck. Tiny peck really. It was nothing.

"For luck." Beca has the audacity to wink.

* * *

But long story short, yes, using the rope to lower her to the ground does work. And by long story, Chloe means she closed her eyes for most of it. Beca gives her a big grin and a hooded cloak when they reach the courtyard below. Now that her hair and face are covered, Chloe feels confident that she'll actually be able to sneak past everyone in the city without detection.

Beca beckons her and they leave the Beale estate from the back gate. It occurs to Chloe that the life she'd previously led was dull to the point that she hadn't even devised a way to leave the estate in all her years. Oh well. Excitement is certainly happening now.

The streets are beautiful in the evening, dappled in moonlight and lit by oil lanterns and candles side by side, in windows and hanging from roofs. It seems ever more poignant with Beca's hand holding hers, leading her to the docks, like a scene out of a sappy romance paperback. And furthermore, when did she start thinking of this as a romance? Thankfully, Beca takes the wrong turn at the market, so Chloe's given a new line of thought to deal with.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Beca says.

They take the winding path south of the market towards the forest and Beca leads the way adeptly, obviously having taken this way many times before. A few more turns and they've arrived at the mouth of a small bay.

"There," Beca says, pointing.

Chloe looks.

In front of her is the most magnificent ship she's ever seen, tall and majestic, the wood shining white in the night. The sails, although not raised, still swell slightly in the weak breeze. She can vaguely make out the shape of cannons lining the sides of the deck and body of the ship.

"Wow."

When she's able to finally tear her eyes away from the ship to look at Beca, she sees the brunette with the softest expression she's witnessed so far. Slowly, so slowly that Chloe doesn't think she's actually moving, Beca leans forward. Chloe's heart leaps, it freaking leaps, that's the exact feeling. It leaps and it hops and she's not sure why it doing those things because that's not what that organ is for. It should pump steadily and keep her alive, that's what it should do.

Beca looks away finally and says, "Do you want to take a look on deck?"

"No, that's alright," Chloe says. "Perhaps another day."

"Why don't I accompany you back home then?"

"That's alright, I know my way," she says. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Beca."

Beca nods, suddenly distant in manner. Chloe makes her way home, one hand over her chest, wondering about her heart.

* * *

A week later, she receives another gift from the pirate captain, wrapped in a thin silk bag. A small light green jade pendant falls out into her open palm. Chloe examines it with much interest; Eastern goods are still rarely seen despite the new trade routes.

_A Far Eastern treasure for a worthy recipient. I will visit again in two months' time. Yours – B._

An odd feeling rises up in Chloe's chest, unsettling her, something she's never felt before. It's the word  _yours_ , as if a person can belong to her, that's causing the new emotion. Is it apprehension? She does feel a bit nervous, but it's sort of pleasant. A pleasant nervousness?

She tries not to focus on it too much. Two months is a long time, perhaps that is what she's feeling, Chloe decides. Disappointment. And what a ridiculous thing for her to be feeling, all this for a friend she's only met a few times. Still, Chloe ties the pendant with a loose piece of string around her neck. The surface of jade against her collarbone is cool and relaxing.

* * *

In late autumn, on her birthday, her father comes home with a guest. The guest is a young man, rather handsome, and dressed impeccably (as well as expensively). Chloe knows immediately the purpose of the dinner.

"Mr. Stewart," the young man introduces himself. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Beale."

As he bends low to kiss her outstretched hand, Chloe says, "Thank you, Mr. Stewart. I feel much the same way."

Sensing an undertone of displeasure to Chloe's words, her father lays a placating hand on her shoulder. It's meant to be warm and comforting, but she feels a vague disgust that makes little sense. She's known for what seems like forever that she'd one day have to marry a nice man of her father's choice.

When they're sat at the table, her father presents Mr. Stewart to her.

"Tom is a fine young man. Studied at Oxford."

"Is it a lovely town?" Chloe asks, feigning polite interest.

"Quite," he says. "I shall take you some time if you wish."

"That sounds delightful," she says.

Her father nods.

* * *

And yes, Chloe can imagine herself married to Tom. They'll live in this very estate and have children and Tom will inherit the business once her father passes. They'll perhaps undergo one or two hardships in times of tough economy, but for the most part will sustain the upper class life. Tom will manage the business and trade, Chloe will flit from party to party talking her husband up and socializing with the other married women. It's all so easy to see. Would it be so terrible? She's not sure.

When she returns to her room, Chloe finds a note tacked to the balcony railing.

_Watch the sky at midnight. Yours –B._

So Chloe sits on the balcony and waits. She expects something crazy, something wild, like Beca flying from the sky into her arms.

Nothing.

How curious.

Some time while she's waiting, Chloe dozes off.

_BANG!_

Chloe jerks awake at the noise.  _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

The red and yellow sparks in the sky draw her attention. Fireworks bloom green and blue and purple and every single color Chloe could ever want. And she is suddenly sure of two things,  _knows_ them rather.

First is the most obvious, she knows that these are meant for her. From Beca.

Second, she knows that she cannot marry Tom.

Looking at the rooftop she realizes a third thing: adventure isn't just better in fiction, but in reality too.

And she can imagine her life with Beca easily, too easily. She'll spend the first month being nauseous, finding her sea legs, integrating with the crew. She'll cook and clean and learn how to do things on the ship (like stuff with the mast and sails and she's not actually sure what there is to be done) and pull her own weight. Beca will help her through it, patient and amused, nothing like Ms. Posen. Pirates don't typically have long careers so they'll probably die an early death with no glory. Would that really be so terrible?

Chloe thinks of Beca, slanting eyes and sunburnt skin.

And no. That would be wonderful.

* * *

_Epilogue_

"I hear Allen is complaining to anyone who will listen that he's lost his fifth ship this month."

"That's why you don't plot your routes to cross into pirate territory. He was begging for it, if you ask me."

"Allen's convinced it was Lady Ash and Lady Fire."

"Bah! What does he know? Fire and Ash have taken the amnesty."

"Liar. Oh, and by the way, you're buying next round."

In the corner, two figures in hooded cloaks whisper to each other in secrecy. A flash of red and raven hair can be seen as they stand to leave. Once outside, the taller figure leads the shorter one into the abandoned alleyway.

"And what do you think, Beca? Have the dynamic duo actually retired into a quiet life?"

Beca laughs and pulls Chloe in. Their lips meet for a short kiss and then a longer one. Chloe's arm snakes around Beca's waist and she smiles into the kiss.

"Never."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next chapter: Celebrities.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel so inclined.


	14. Sparks Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter AU, set approximately 16 years after the Second Wizarding War. Some knowledge of the HP universe is highly recommended.
> 
> This was a Happy Birthday present to [lescousinsdangereux](http://thecousinsdangereux.tumblr.com/). Do yourself a favor and check out her stuff.

Beca  _hates_  these high society functions, full of snobbish lords and ladies with their frilly dress robes and haughty attitudes. The owner of the Wimbourne Wasps leers at her from across the room and reveals his jagged canines with an unfortunately open-mouthed smile. To her left a debate regarding South Asian bowtruckles keeps three pretentious scholars occupied. And tragically, she's found herself in conversation with two aggressive Ministry officials who can't seem to agree on whether or not the Brotherhood of Goblins can be labelled as a terrorist organization.

"Brodrig and his minions blew up Essex last time their little 'meeting' resulted in a riot-"

"But 'terrorist' seems a bit strong for an unorganized group of goblin rabble."

"Tell that to the south half of Essex," Beca drawls, deeply uninterested in this matter.

"Sorry to interrupt," a new voice interjects. Beca looks over her shoulder to see a more welcome face. Jesse rests his elbow on Beca's shoulder and continues, "I'm afraid I have to steal Ms. Mitchell away for a couple of minutes. I hope you gentlemen don't mind."

The Ministry officials – Pilliwickle and Detweiller – shrug.

"It was a pleasure, Ms. Mitchell."

"Yes, indeed," Detweiller says, tone acidic. "I look forward to hearing more…  _deep_ insights from you in the future."

It's a dig at her, she realizes belatedly as Jesse drags her away.

"Oh come on," she huffs once they're out of ear shot. "I had the perfect comeback too."

"I'm sure it was spectacular, involving both a comparison of his father and a grindylow and a thinly veiled metaphor about the incompetence of the Ministry," Jesse says.

"No." He looks at her disbelievingly. She acquiesces, "Gnome, not grindylow."

Jesse grins despite himself. "Come on. Go make nice with the other guests or Deverill will throw a fit later."

"For Merlin's sake," Beca sputters, "I'm a Quidditch player, not some… some socialite or… or some kind of…"

"Debutante?" he offers.

"Just hearing that word pisses me off even more for some reason," she says, shooting a quick look over her shoulder to make sure no one's eavesdropping.

"Well, I know that this isn't your scene," Jesse says with a sympathetic quirk of his mouth, "and Deverill sure as hell knows that, but I don't think the sponsors will be too fond of the anti-social, broody, and utterly antagonistic image."

"Hey!"

He holds his hands up defensively, "I mean that in the best way because I happen to know that those make for a loveable combination. I'm just saying, you always look like you're about to throw hexes at anyone who approaches."

"Flint made it work," Beca grumbles.

"If you want to spend two years with the Falcons before being kicked out of the League for excessive fouling, be my guest."

He has a point. Not that she'd ever be the one to admit it.

"So hop over to Jessica and latch onto her conversations and hope that her charm rubs off on you, okay?"

Beca narrows her eyes and says, "You're lucky you're my friend or I'd so happily fire you right now."

"And here I thought my expertise was my saving grace," he says with a light kiss to her cheek. Then more gently, he continues, "Just get through tonight and then you'll be too busy with the season starting to go to parties of any sort."

"Can't wait," she says and walks off in Jessica's direction as advised.

* * *

The prospect of having to spend several more hours forcing grimaces masquerading as cordiality and making inane small talk gives Beca a massive headache. She drains her bottle of Simison Steaming Stout and swipes a glass of Firewhisky to nurse while she finds her teammate.

Standing opposite Jessica, a woman with vibrant red hair swept into an elegant topknot and a focused expression nods along in agreement with whatever is being said. As if on cue, her eyes flicker upwards and land on Beca looking her way. The intensity of her expression causes something to physically jolt inside Beca. A small smile graces the woman's lips, curving upwards sharply. Beca's tongue snakes out to wet her lips before she approaches the two women.

Jessica breaks off midsentence to greet Beca with a quick hug and warm kiss to the cheek, saying, "I've been looking all over for you."

"Just finding the spot with the most shade, you know me," Beca returns and turns to the stranger, extending her free hand politely. "I'm Beca Mitchell. I don't think we've met."

The dangerously crooked half-smile widens into a million dollar teeth-flashing full blown grin as she shakes Beca's hand firmly. She tilts her head to one side and says, "Chloe Beale, and you must be the fantastic chaser I've been hearing all about recently."

"I don't know about that," Beca says, fighting the urge to blush, but failing tremendously as pink blooms across her cheeks. "But I am a chaser for Puddlemere United."

Before Beca can accidentally reveal that she has no idea who Chloe Beale actually is, Jessica intervenes, "Chloe was just telling me about how business was going over at Beale & Kurk."

Beale & Kurk. That rings a vague bell. Jessica's looking at her, one eyebrow raised, as if she expects that to be enough to clue Beca in on the details.  _Okay_. She takes a deep breath, racking her brain, but Chloe interrupts, "Yes, all the delightful musings on the economy of magical wood."

Beca snorts into what would have been a delicate sip of her Firewhisky. Eyes watering and nose burning, she chokes and coughs, sloshing the drink all over herself and the fancy hardwood floors.

"Beca!" Jessica's face burns red, simultaneously scandalized at Beca's mishap and the way she's made a perfectly formal topic into an innuendo.

Several heads turn to see what the small commotion is about. As Beca tries to regain her composure, she sees Chloe's hand fly up to her mouth to cover a gasp. Beca straightens and realizes the corners of Chloe's eyes are crinkled – she's not gasping, she's  _laughing_. And Beca finds herself grinning stupidly, liquid still dripping down off her chin.

"Here, let me," Chloe says, dialing her amusement back a few notches. She withdraws her wand from her sleeve and waves it, " _Tergeo_." The remaining Firewhisky on Beca's face is siphoned off and before she has a chance to thank Chloe, the redhead waves her wand again, " _Scourgify_ ," and the mess on her dress robes and the floor dissipate. The rest of the guests return to their conversations now that Beca's little… display… is over.

"Merlin," Beca says, rubbing her chin. "Thank you." The words have never been more appropriate, so she repeats them for good measure, "Thank you."

"No problem, really."

Jessica sighs, "And you were doing so well."

"Yes," Chloe says almost thoughtfully, "you'd think a Quidditch star would have a little more coordination."

Mouth snapping open with a rejoinder, Beca stops herself, dimly recognizing the teasing tone it's said with. She can't help but chuckle, "My job at these events is just to stand here and look pretty."

"You've barely even got the standing part down," Jessica says, only half-serious.

"Ladies." Bumper Allen swaggers up to them, arm encircling Jessica's waist as Beca makes a face. Sure, his relationship with Beca has been described as a rivalry in the past (only by idiot reporters like that awful Skeeter woman), but it was mostly just utter disdain from Beca's end and oblivious arrogance on his. He acts like he's a first-rate seeker when he's maybe –  _maybe_ – (really maybe, she has to stress that part) the seventeenth fastest flier in the British and Irish Quidditch League.

"Allen."

"Mr. Allen, what a pleasure."

Jessica kisses his cheek and says, "Excuse me, Ms. Beale, Beca."

"Of course, it was lovely talking to you," Chloe says graciously, shaking both Jessica and Bumper's hands once more.

"So," she fixes Beca with an examining look now that it's just the two of them.

"So," Beca repeats.

Chloe pauses.

"So."

" _So_."

"You have no idea who I am, do you?"

Sheepishly, Beca shakes her head.

"Beale & Kurk is a corporation dedicated to general goods with a specialty in providing wood such as ash or holly for wand and broomstick manufacturers," Chloe says. "Which is just a long winded way of saying I'm the daughter of a big sponsor in the Quidditch industry."

She says this all like it's the most boring thing ever to be – which Beca actually imagines it is, but hasn't met many people of the same opinion.

"I'm not good with the whole..." Beca struggles to come up with a non-offensive way of putting it. "This whole scene."

"Yeah, I saw you earlier and you looked like this party was absolutely  _murdering_  you," Chloe snickers.

Beca has the sense to be bashful about it. "That's a thing. I suck at hiding my true feelings."

"That's not a particularly Slytherin trait, is it?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Beca says, "Spent time researching me?"

"You were a few years below me," Chloe defends. "I have a good memory for this kind of thing."

"Sure," Beca says, smug.

"It does look like the party's winding down though," Chloe says.

The noise level of the room is notably lower and one or two of the elderly have left already, so it's an accurate observation. However, Beca glumly says, "Manager and agent always make me stay till the very end. I've got like two more hours. Minimum."

"Maybe not," Chloe says, her expression downright mischievous.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

Beca says, "Come on, you can tell me."

"You'll see," Chloe says. "Have a lovely rest of your evening, Ms. Mitchell. It was an absolute delight meeting you."

"Not very Hufflepuff of you to be so withholding," Beca says as Chloe's turning away to leave.

"Ah," Chloe smiles knowingly. "So you remember me now."

"No," Beca denies instantly.

"No?"

"No," she maintains.

"No," Chloe repeats once more flatly and disbelievingly.

"Just tell me what you're planning to do."

Chloe simply smirks and walks away.

* * *

Thankfully,  _mercifully,_  the party ends early due to some trouble caused by a few loose kneazles in the dining room. And although Jesse eyes her suspiciously, Beca has absolutely nothing to do with it (okay, yes there was a similar incident in the Tornadoes' locker room last season, but that was  _one_  time). But she's fairly sure she knows who is involved.

And that causes a dopey grin to stretch across her lips, one that she can't seem to get rid of no matter how hard she tries.

(At this rate she'll have to transfigure her mouth just so she doesn't seem like a dementedly happy banshee.)

* * *

Jesse apparates into her living room the next day in the middle of breakfast, swooping his cape dramatically like the ass he is.

"Morning," Beca mumbles around a mouthful of toast.

"Morning," Jesse says cheerily. He takes a seat opposite of her and leans forward, taking great interest in the contents of her meal.

"Need something?"

"What a way to greet your best friend!"

Beca sets down her toast and wipes her fingers off on a napkin. "What did I fuck up this time?"

"Actually," he says, "I have rather good news for you, although knowing you, you might not find it 'good' exactly."

"Just tell me."

Jesse whips out a newspaper from out of nowhere and lays it in front of her. The front page story covers the charity fundraiser from last night, detailing the various attendees.

"Great…?"

"No, at the bottom," he points out.

Beca looks down and sees a picture of her and Chloe Beale next to the index. Picture Beca is smirking coolly, shifting from side to side as picture Chloe laughs at something she's said, leaning into her and brushing their arms together. Below is the caption:  _Heiress Chloe Beale seen sharing an especially friendly moment with Puddlemere United Chaser, Beca Mitchell._

"Okay…" Beca draws out. "I kind of got front cover?"

"And now look here," Jesse says, slapping a magazine on top of the Daily Prophet.

"Witch Weekly? This stuff is trash, wh-"

"Just look," he insists, flipping it to page seven.

"Chloe Beale, socialite, was reportedly seen flirting with Beca Mitchell, starting chaser for Puddlemere United, last night. Witnesses claimed the two seemed rather intimate and were seen leaving the party with linked arms," Beca reads out loud, her horror mounting with each word.

"Yep," Jesse says, beaming, apparently feeling none of her dread.

"And this is your  _good_  news? Like zero of this is true."

"Beca,  _Becaw_ , I don't think you understand how great this is," he says. "The European Cup is being held in Norway this year and Chloe Beale is not only the adopted daughter of a Norwegian business magnate but also a European fashion icon."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I happened to exchange Floo directory numbers with Ms. Posen, her agent, last night, although it was admittedly with pleasure not business in mind, and we talked a little and…"

"And what?" she asks sharply, even though she's 97.4% certain where he's going with this.

"Well just think about it," he says, clasping a hand over hers, "Witch Weekly already thinks you guys are headed in the dating direction."

"Bloody hell, you're fucking serious," she says, standing.

Jesse stands too and rounds the table, saying, "There's no bad angle here, Beca. It's just for publicity, you don't have to actually like her."

"Yeah, except it's – I don't know –  _fake_?"

Very seriously, he grabs her by the shoulders and looks at her dead in the eyes. "Do you know how many first year starting chasers get the chance to play in the European Cup?" When she doesn't answer, he repeats, "Do you?"

"Like none."

"None," he affirms. "Now you and me, we know for a fact that you're good enough to even play the World Cup some day, maybe next year, we'll work on it. Okay? I wouldn't hitch myself to a splintered Cleansweep Eleven. I know you're taking us both all the way." She nods as he continues, "A little good press like this? It'll jumpstart your career in a huge way."

Beca exhales forcefully, anger deflating, and says, "Okay, tell me all the advantages to this." For Merlin's sake, she's a Slytherin; strategy and underhanded dealings are supposed to be her forte. (Truth is, she wanted to leave that kind of stuff behind in her Hogwarts days, but she's recently become disillusioned with the Quidditch industry.)

"First off, dating always makes you more desirable. It lets people know that you can be wanted, that you're attainable in an unattainable way. It'll gain you a great deal of spotlight with the media, which is always good if you end up getting transferred to another team," he lists. "Second, the European Cup is invitation-only, as you know, and even though Puddlemere's always been in their sights, Deverill managed to piss off the new director of the Invitation Committee last year. So you guys are going to need more than just a good season this year. Third, she's a Muggle-born and even though the Ministry loves proclaiming how far we've gotten since the Second Wizarding War, you know how tense it still is. A high-profile pureblood/Muggle-born relationship?  _Everyone_  – and I mean everyone – will eat it up."

"And Beale, what does she get out of this exactly?"

"She's planning something big, something so big that Posen wouldn't even tell me what it was. Anyway, she's got her fanbase deeply rooted in the fashion industry, but she'd like to appeal to the demographics outside of that. What better way than date a Quidditch star? And it wouldn't hurt her family's business either, would it? Cleansweep and Nimbus will fight to the death to get their wood from Beale & Kurk." Jesse runs a hand through his hair and says, "On top of all that, her father's been pressuring her for years to get more into the dating scene and she's always refused. But this would fix everything, she'd be able to do her stuff and avoid the nagging."

"So family wouldn't be in the loop," Beca says, eyes narrowing as she considers it. "It would just be – what – you, me, Beale, and her agent?"

"And Deverill."

"Fuck Deverill," she scoffs. "He's the team's manager, not my manager."

"Okay, fuck Deverill," Jesse says, way more eager than she'd expected.

"Okay," Beca says. "What does Chloe think about all this?"

"She's totally onboard!"

"Really?"

"Well, she will be when Posen tells her, I'm sure," he backtracks.

Beca snorts. "Tell me what Posen and Beale say, then I'll decide."

"Fine, fair enough," Jesse says. "Now how about conjuring up some breakfast for the guest?"

With a flick of her wand, Beca sends the remainder of her breakfast flying towards his head.

* * *

Getting Jesse to leave is a profoundly drawn-out experience, but eventually he does, with a quick peck to her cheek before disapparating. Beca goes out for a quick fly around her property (what other purpose is there to spending so many Galleons on acres and acres of land?), practicing several flying maneuvers. She can do the Porskoff Ploy in her sleep, but it never hurts to polish it and improvise a little. The classics never get old, but the opposing chasers remember them too.

As she lands and sets her father's Nimbus 2000 aside, she hears a pop beside her.

"Mistress Mitchell," Kippy, her house elf, speaks squeakily and bows low, "Mr. Swanson is in the parlor fireplace, wishing to speak with you."

"Thank you, Kippy," Beca says, wiping her brow with a white hand towel.

Her face is still red, hair still streaked with sweat when she takes a seat on the loveseat in front of the fire. She directs a cooling charm at herself, wand pointed towards her face.

"Jesse," she says to his floating head dancing in the flames.

"My main witch," he says.

"What's stirring?"

"One Ms. Chloe Beale has kindly agreed to our proposition."

Beca raises an eyebrow and lowers her wand. " _Your_  proposition. And she did?"

"Well her exact words were 'if Beca's in, then sure.'"

"So Beale didn't actually-"

"Come on," Jesse huffs impatiently. "That's a yes if I ever saw one. Neither one of you wants to be the odd one out saying yes first."

Beca's silence confirms his theory.

"So Posen and I have basically decided for you two indecisive  _love birds_ ," he sing-songs the last bit so brightly she would reach out and smack him if it wasn't for the possibility of burn wounds.

"What now?"

"What now?" he repeats. "Why Becaw, we make a glorious beginning of course. Anything can happen."

* * *

Anything turns out to be a low-key "outing" (outing because Beca can't seem to say the word date).

Of course Chloe has long since arrived by the time Beca takes a seat hurriedly. The redhead looks at her with a neutral expression before breaking out into a strained smile, "Thank you for gracing me with your presence."

"Sorry 'bout that. Coach made me run blocking drills late," Beca says, flipping through the menu.

Chloe casts the Muffliato charm as discreetly as possible and asks, "So how do you wanna play this?"

"Huh?"

"Like what's our strategy here?"

"Uhm…"

"Three tables from the exit is a gossip reporter from  _Rumours!_ , the man with the top hat by the bar is with  _Which Broomstick?_ , and finally the literal fly on the wall behind me is that absolutely horrid pap from  _Spella Weekly_ ," Chloe says.

Beca raises an eyebrow, impressed as hell.

"Well, I had to do something while I waited," Chloe teases.

"Next time I'll send an owl."

"So you plan to be late again."

"No," Beca says.

"No?"

"No," she says, "but I don't know, it could happen again, who knows?"

"Anyway, game plan," Chloe redirects the conversation to the matter at hand.

"Right," Beca says, inhaling sharply. "Well, should we hold hands? Or… no?"

Chloe laughs genuinely, letting the warmth spread across her features. "You don't date much, do you?"

"What gave it away?" Beca asks, slightly embarrassed, but determined to be a good sport about it. "No, I don't. I haven't had the time or-"

"Or met the right person?"

"Something like that."

"I can sympathize," Chloe says as Beca taps her fingers erratically on the table top. "Don't be nervous, just pretend this is a real date."

Beca chuckles disbelievingly, "Not helping with the nerves, Beale."

"I have a small vial of Calming Draught in my purse if you'd like."

She considers it, but shrugs, "If I can play and fly in front of thousands of people, I should be able to do this, right?"

The corner of Chloe's mouth lifts, dimples creasing clearly, and asks sweetly, "Do I scare you that much?"

Beca sighs, repressing a smile, and shakes her head, "Don't be so fucking smug about it."

"Okay, okay," Chloe relents. "Moving on then. How do you feel about fried calamari?"

* * *

"How'd your fake date go?" Jesse calls from down below as Beca circles him on her broom high above. She ignores him, swooping towards the makeshift goal posts at the end of the field. He yells, "Real mature, Beca!"

She rolls her eyes and dives down near him just close enough to scare. Panicking, he lets loose a slew of swears as she laughs. Her amusement fades quickly as he sends a hex her way and she's forced to dodge out of the way.

"Oy, asshole, watch where you're aiming!"

He sends another few her way before Beca, exasperated, lands.

"Better," he says, smoothing back his hair. "Now, how did your date go?"

"It happened," she says, brushing past him to the broom shed.

"That bad, huh?" he asks.

"It wasn't bad. It happened, okay?"

"Merlin, you're being more cryptic than that mad divination professor we had fifth year."

Beca rubs her eyes tiredly, "You can read all about it tomorrow in  _Spella_  like everyone else. I've got practice again tomorrow so I'm gonna have dinner and then turn in for the night."

"I feel like you're not taking this seriously," he says as she disapparates. "Real mature!" he shouts at no one in particular.

* * *

"Okay, since you  _refused_  to cooperate, I actually had to get a copy of each and every newspaper and magazine that published today," Jesse says huffily, slamming a stack of aforementioned items on her dining table.

"This is the second breakfast you've interrupted this week," Beca says, faking disinterest. "I hope it's not becoming a habit."

"Then next time keep me updated on your situation with Chloe."

"You would've bought this stuff and interrupted regardless," she says.

Jesse begins to protest, but tilts his head to the side before acquiescing, "Probably true, but I'd still appreciate not being kept out of the loop."

"Whatever," Beca dismisses, reaching for the top magazine.

"Uh-uh," Jesse bats her hand away. "You're being weird, is this not working out? If it went terribly yesterday, I'd like to know that so I can be prepared reading whatever's in here," he says, shaking  _The Quibbler_.

She takes a deep breath and purses her lips.

He waits.

"Fine," she exhales. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you-"

"I don't know how it went," Beca finally admits.

Jesse's eyebrows jump up. "Sorry?"

"I'm not… the best judge on what counts as a good date."

"Oh, Beca," he says, sounding torn between outright guffawing or reaching out for a consolation hug.

"I guess I thought fake dating would be easier than actually dating?"

"It's okay, dude," he says. "I'm right here, I'll hold your hand through this."

"I'm so glad we all signed a confidentiality clause," Beca says. "'Cause if you told anyone about this, I'd have to kill you. And then I'd have to find a new agent who can deal with… this mess," she gestures to herself.

Jesse smirks and flips through the first magazine,  _Seeker Weekly_ , before turning the magazine and pushing it towards her. "Nothing to be afraid of."

She looks down to see a picture of her actively conversing with Chloe in an open manner. Picture Chloe's intent stare is quite convincingly enraptured.

_Beca Mitchell (Puddlemere United, C 2-S, '13-?) and Chloe Beale (of Beale & Kurk) spotted together again over an intimate lunch date._

"Is that good?"

Jesse prods her, "Not sure, keep reading."

_Mitchell first stepped onto the playing field last season after a particularly nasty Bludger injury incapacitated Broderick Klint (Puddlemere United, C 2-S, '05-'13). Mitchell went on to have the fifth highest number of goals for the entire league last year despite beginning mid-season. It seems that she's not only caught our attention here at Seeker Weekly, but fashion icon/business mogul Chloe Beale's attention as well. One thing's for sure: we'll be keeping an especially keen eye on both this interesting pair as well as Mitchell's flying skills this season._

Beca swears it's never been so difficult to read in her life.

"This is good, then?"

"This is  _fantastic_ ," Jesse enthuses. "Again, just the beginning, dude."

She hugs him tightly, laughing, but a look of horror dawns on her face and she detaches from him. She coughs, "I tripped."

"You old softie," he punches her lightly on her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," she says. "This better be worth it, my blood pressure must be through the roof. I'll have to go in for weekly draughts at St. Mungo's at this rate."

"It will be more than worth it," Jesse says. "I promise."

* * *

As Beca's settling into her couch for a quiet evening, a head pops up in her fireplace. Without looking up from her book, she asks, "What now, Jesse?"

"As cute as he is, I'm not sure if I should feel offended or flattered."

Beca looks up in surprise to see Chloe Beale's floating head smiling at her. "Oh, sorry."

"Am I interrupting your… nightly ritual?"

"Uh, no," Beca chuckles. "Nothing like that. Just reading a bit before bed. Did something come up?"

"Just checking in with you," she assures.

"Everything's good," Beca says and is surprised to find that she means it. The whole day's been surreal for her and it should feel weirder than it does, but for some reason, she feels like there's something easy about this situation too. (Well, now that she's gotten adjusted.)

"Well, I was going to tell you to not stress about this whole scheme we've got going, but it looks like you don't need my advice," Chloe says, smoothing back a stray lock of hair.

"It's always good to hear it again," Beca says. Confusion flickers briefly across Chloe's face before Beca clarifies, "Jesse got there before you."

"Ah," Chloe says. "It also seems appropriate for me to wish you good luck tomorrow."

Beca raises an eyebrow, "Stalking me?"

"No."

"No?"

Chloe repeats, "No."

"No…?"

"What kind of fake girlfriend would I be if I didn't at least know your Quidditch schedule?"

Beca smirks and asks, "Oh so it's fake official now? We're  _officially_  fake going steady?"

"Am I jumping the gun?"

"We've only been on one fake date," Beca says. "I don't think I'm  _that_  easy."

"Please," Chloe scoffs, "if it had been the real thing, I would've charmed the socks off you – though not literally."

"Right," Beca drawls. "Let's let others stew for once before we make any sort of grand announcement, why don't we?"

"I do enjoy watching my father's surprise whenever he opens a newspaper," Chloe hums in agreement.

Digging her fingers into the side of her knee, Beca manages to ask, "Are you coming to my game tomorrow then?" It's ridiculous but she still feels a little nervous asking.

"What kind of fake not-quite girlfriend would I be if I didn't show up to support you?" Chloe teases. "Of course I'll be there cheering you on."

Beca covers up her relief by saying dismissively, "Whatever, see you then."

"Goodnight,  _lovebug_ ," Chloe says, blowing a kiss, magically manifested into a small pink balloon heart floating into Beca's living room. Her face fades from the fireplace.

" _Evanesco_ ," Beca points her wand at the heart, instead making one of the picture frames behind it disappear. "Are you serious?" She tries again, " _Finite Incantatem_."

Nothing happens.

Beca groans and stomps up the staircase, ready to forget about this so she can get the necessary sleep for tomorrow, but finds that the heart has followed her up the stairs.

"Are you fucking serious?"

She's sure Chloe Beale's laughing her head off somewhere, so of course Beca's determined not to let it bother her. As she clambers into bed, the heart squeaks happily and emits a reddish glow. Beca rolls her eyes and pulls the covers over her head.

(When she wakes up in the morning and stares at the heart hovering over her, she decides it's not the  _most_  awful thing to ever happen to her. Well, it's awful – hearts that aren't meant for potions or pumping blood will always be awful in some capacity – but it's not the worst.)

* * *

With a heave, Beca tosses the Quaffle to her teammate, Donald, who quickly passes it down to Jessica. The irritating Harpies' chaser with the green Mohawk intercepts and races upwards, classic Porskoff Ploy, which Donald catches onto and grabs the Quaffle that she's purposefully dropped down to her other teammate. He tosses it to Jessica who punts it in Beca's direction.

Time seems to slow for a split second as she angles her fist just enough to punch the Quaffle through the central hoop.

"Woo Beca!"

Even over the rest of the cheering stadium, the players zooming by her, the roar of the announcer, Beca swears she can hear Chloe's voice.

* * *

Dripping with sweat, high on the victory, Beca follows her teammates and drags her broom to the locker room. As she hangs her broom up and sheds her Quidditch robes, surprisingly strong arms wrap her into a hug from behind.

"Huh?" She's reaching for her wand, ready to curse the assailant when they spin her around.

"Great game, Beca!"

Beca stammers into a curtain of red hair, "I'm really sweaty."

"I'll deal with it somehow," Chloe smiles warmly.

Beca twists her arms awkwardly in a futile attempt to escape but settles for patting Chloe's back instead. Jessica snickers to her left, which Beca can only respond to by sticking out her tongue.

* * *

"Where do you want to go to celebrate?" Chloe asks as they head out of the changing rooms, Beca in fresh clothes.

"I don't really celebrate," Beca mumbles.

"Nonsense," Chloe says. "Don't all teams go out after a victory? Especially for the first game of the season?"

"But then I'd have to talk to reporters or something," she cringes at the idea.

"Well," Chloe twirls Beca around, "why don't we go grab some dinner, just the two of us? It'll be a quiet and relaxing affair."

Beca goes through the forced pirouette rather reluctantly, dragging her feet. "I don't know…"

"Ms. Beale! Ms. Mitchell! Can we get a photo for  _the Daily Prophet_?"

Chloe looks at Beca questioningly, mouth quirking to one side.

"Sure," Beca decides.

Chloe presses a quick and rather chaste kiss to Beca's cheek as the flash goes off. Cheeks burning, Beca's jaw snaps shut, trapping her sound of surprise.

"Excellent," the photographer says with a thumbs up. "Thank you."

"Thank you for supporting Beca and Puddlemere United," Chloe beams, intertwining her fingers with Beca's.

The photographer looks up, startled, and nods vigorously, "Of course. I think this is Puddlemere's year."

He scurries off to grab an interview with Deverill and Beca turns to Chloe, whispering, "How'd you know he was a Puddlemere fan?"

"He's always chasing after Deverill at charity functions," Chloe says, "and Deverill is far from a looker."

Beca snorts and sighs, "Insulting my manager is my Achilles' heel, alright, alright, let's go eat."

"There's reporters and paps  _everywhere_ ," Chloe notes. "Why don't we head back to my place instead?"

"Eh? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of our dates?"

"Come on, what's more interesting? Us going out to dinner is pretty straightforward, but you staying over?" Chloe waggles her eyebrows. "That could mean anything. The mystery will drive the public crazy." She stands with both fists on her hips, a ridiculous pose if Beca's ever seen one.

"Right," Beca says with a soft laugh. "So your place? I'd actually like that."

* * *

She's not sure what she expected Chloe Beale's residence to look like, maybe a mansion or a palace or something. In reality it's a rather simple but spacious apartment in the middle of London amongst Muggles. The interior is painted a light blue with dots of darker blue accenting the walls with pictures of family lining every wall.

"Welcome to my lowly abode," Chloe sweeps in, tossing her keys into a nearby clay basin.

"What's that?" Beca asks, a little aghast, and points to a huge rectangle box mounted on the wall.

"A television."

"Television?"

"Yeah, TV," Chloe says. "Didn't you ever take Muggle Studies?"

"… No?"

"It's hard to explain," she says. "It plays these really long picture stories."

"So you live like a Muggle?" Beca asks, peering around the corner as Chloe disappears into the kitchen.

"You forget I'm a Muggle-born," Chloe says, now with a smaller rectangle box in her hand.

"What's that, a mini-television?"

Chloe laughs and puts the device in Beca's hands, "No, it's a cell phone."

"What's it do?" Beca runs her fingers along the hard edges.

"It does a lot of things, mainly it's how Muggles contact each other," she explains.

Beca makes a face and hands the… 'cell phone' back to Chloe. "That's so weird."

"Not really," Chloe says, tapping the surface as one side of the rectangle lights up.

"I thought you were brought up as a pure-blood though," Beca says.

"I was moved from several foster homes, but due to my early and clear displays of magic, the Ministry intervened and put me in a government-sanctioned orphanage. Then my parents adopted me, but I was already eight years old, so they decided to bring me up in the best of both worlds."

"Best of both worlds," Beca repeats amusedly.

"Well, I certainly think so," Chloe says. "And once the pizza arrives, you will think so too."

"I'll hold you to that, Beale."

* * *

Beca moans into her second bite of pizza. "I can't believe I never had this before."

Smugly, Chloe takes a sip of her soda and says, "Told you."

"Fuck," Beca says. "I can't even hate you for saying that."

"Come on, let's watch a movie," Chloe says, pushing Beca's legs off another rectangle shaped object, which she calls a remote (seriously what is it with Muggles and rectangles?).

"I don't know… food is one thing, but this weird techno whatever is something else."

"Just one movie," Chloe says. "Unless you have somewhere you'd rather be."

She could go home and collapse into her bed, that huge empty bed with too many pillows and comfortable sheets. She could go home and go on a solitary midnight fly around her property. There are a lot of things that she could do.

But Beca bites her lip and shakes her head, "No, I don't."

"Then it's settled."

* * *

Eyes straining open against the morning sunlight, Beca groans and shifts, hand brushing against someone else. She realizes that she had fallen asleep with her head across Chloe's midsection. As carefully and slowly as possible Beca stands and tiptoes around to find her coat. She watches the way Chloe's eyelashes flicker slightly and how her chest falls and rises with each breath. It's a peaceful sight, so much so that Beca feels rooted to the spot.

Still, it feels wrong somehow for her to be watching Chloe like this. Like she's trespassed into Chloe's life with phony intentions.

Beca sighs, suddenly weary, and promptly disapparates.

* * *

Although the uneasiness never fully dissipates, Beca becomes more accustomed to the feeling as she and Chloe go on several more dates. For some reason, the media whips itself into a frenzy over them, and reporters assault them left and right with questions regarding the nature of their relationship (it's gotten to the point that she's had to have her apartment charmed and warded). And as instructed Chloe and Beca politely decline to comment. Jesse insists that they pick their moment carefully.

'Their moment' comes mid-season a mere week before the European Cup invitations are to be sent out. Puddlemere United beats out the Kenmare Kestrals by a mere twenty points, but Beca's never played better in her life. During the victory lap, she sees her chance as she flies past the box seats where Chloe waves a blue and yellow banner back and forth. Beca descends and lands on the edge of the platform, and so swept along with everything, pulls Chloe into her for a kiss. It's meant to be a simple peck, short and sweet, just long enough to be convincing.

Somehow the moment spirals out of her control and she's kissing Chloe like she means it, like she wants it, like there isn't anyone watching. To her credit, Chloe returns the action just as eagerly, just as breathlessly. The deafening cheering of the crowd is for them, Beca knows.

It's their moment alright.

But it's also the moment that Beca realizes somewhere along the way, somewhere between the almost-nothing kisses, the holding hands, the silly jokes, that maybe this isn't how she wanted things to play out. She wants this connection, whatever it is they have – a playful friendship, a half-serious courtship – to be more than just a ruse.

* * *

"Remember when we first met?" Chloe asks out of the blue on one of their public 'outings' (because Beca has never wanted to say date less than she does now). This happens to be in celebration of Puddlemere United's invitation to the European Cup which Deverill even grudgingly admits is largely due to Beca. She knows it should be more of a big deal than she's treating it, but so caught up with Chloe and their charade, Beca doesn't know what she feels anymore.

"When you nearly killed me with that poorly crafted mention of 'magical wood'? Why yes I do."

"I'd been going around saying that all night and you were the first one to laugh," Chloe says, poking her in the side.

"Seriously?" Beca laughs as she squirms away. "It wasn't even a stretch of the imagination."

"I know, I thought I would be disappointed all evening."

"What, so meeting me was pure satisfaction?" Beca asks teasingly.

Chloe glares and says, "You ruined the moment."

"Were we having a moment?"

"Now as punishment, I want you to meet my parents," Chloe says, sitting back, mouth set in a line.

Beca nearly chokes on the piece of egg she's chewing, a near déjà vu. "Excuse me?"

"Well, Father is temporarily mollified that I'm out and dating, especially someone who plays for his favorite team. But he wants to know I'm serious, so," Chloe shrugs. "You don't have to."

"Are you saying we're serious?" Beca asks, half-seriously.

"I'm saying my parents would love to meet you," Chloe says.

She didn't answer the question, Beca knows, but it doesn't really matter. No matter what she had answered, Beca would be hard pressed to believe it. And for once Beca thinks about the longevity of this hoax they're running. Will they break up amicably at the end? And then what will all this have been for?

"I don't think that's the best idea," Beca says. Chloe looks hurt, but it's so brief that Beca thinks she might've imagined it.

"Okay," Chloe says, brushing it off. "No worries."

Beca squares her jaw and tries to ignore the suddenly heavy and awkward direction their conversation has gone. It's just that she doesn't want to get any more attached than she already is. How can she explain it to Chloe? She doesn't want to be the only one invested.

* * *

On the one weekend Beca has off, she travels to Paris via portkey to attend Chloe's fashion show. It's only fair seeing as Chloe's attended at least five of her games so far. She watches the various models strut down the runway, outfits changing with each pivot, and claps when the rest of the audience does. Beca assumes some of the crazier outfits are appreciated for their eye-grabbing value rather than aesthetics. Fashion is not her expertise, to put it lightly.

It's a long three hours, but at least Jesse is sitting right next to her, no doubt as tortured as she is. That's the greatest consolation prize she can imagine.

Chloe's heels click as she steps up to the podium up front, her short dress straining with each step. Her hair is tied up in a plain ponytail and her use of cosmetic charms is at a minimum, but Beca thinks she's never had a more simple and glamorous look about her.

Voice magnified with the Sonorous Charm, Chloe addresses the crowd, "Thank you all for coming to the 296th Annual EuroFashion for Witches and Wizards." After some polite applause, she continues, "A special thank you to Aubrey Posen for her continued support of both my personal and business endeavors and another special thank you to my girlfriend, Beca Mitchell, for being my muse this past month."

Beca swallows with great difficulty and tries to give Chloe a reassuring smile, but fails tremendously. This is the first time she's been referred to by Chloe as 'girlfriend' in public and it tastes like ashes still smoldering inside her mouth.

(Dare Beca think that what she wants is for this to be honest, to be real?)

* * *

It's silly, whatever it is that Beca's feeling. It's just plain silly, like a schoolgirl crush she can't quite shake. Because of course, of course, the first person to show her affection of any sort (apparently her heart can't discern fake from real) is the one she's suddenly decided to cling onto. It's so pathetic and desperate and  _typical_  of her.

As she's mulling her admittedly self-imposed situation over, smoke rushes out of her fireplace, causing grey clouds to billow into her living room. Beca clears the fog easily with a wave of her wand and coughs, "Dad?"

Dr. Mitchell dusts off his doctor's gown and steps onto the carpet, spilling soot everywhere. "Beca."

"What a pleasant surprise," she says bitingly.

"I know I've been busy at St. Mungo's, but I thought it was high time I came for a visit," he says, reclining into a nearby armchair comfortably.

"Kippy, bring Dr. Mitchell some tea please," Beca calls over her shoulder.

"Yes, Mistress."

"So, what's up?" she asks him.

Dr. Mitchell smiles, "You know I read the newspaper every day and some things I've been seeing have astounded me."

"Like my so far great performance this season?" Beca suggests innocently.

"Oh that's not so astounding," he says. "Your mother and I always knew you'd be a Quidditch star some day. You used to run around in the yard dragging an un-enchanted broomstick behind you because you were too small for the toddler-safe toy-brooms."

She's heard the story a million times, so she cuts to the chase, "Right. This is about me and Beale, isn't it?"

"Beale? Is that what you call her? Beale, honey?"

"So it is about her?"

"I'm just wondering why I haven't met this Chloe Beale woman yet," he shrugs. "Frankly, your mother can't stop talking about her."

"She's Muggle-born," Beca states flatly.

"So? She's one of us isn't she? Can cast charms, mix potions, apparate?"

"Grandpa hates Muggle-borns," Beca says.

"We'll lock Grandpa in the attic when she comes over," Dr. Mitchell says.

Beca snorts. "I don't know, Dad."

"Are you embarrassed of us? Do you not want her to meet us?"

"It's not that," she insists.

"No?"

"No!"

"No?"

Beca shakes her head, "No. It's not that at all."

"What is it then?"

"I don't know if this is gonna last," she says. "I don't want to go to all the trouble of getting your hopes up if nothing's coming out of it."

Dr. Mitchell looks at her oddly, like he's realized something important that she's yet to understand. He nods, "Just remember to come visit your mother and I, we just moved and-"

"Housewarming party in two weeks," Beca says. "I remember."

"If you could bring your girlfriend," he says, "it'd mean a lot to both of us. But it's up to you, of course."

_No, no, no, no, no._

"We'll see," she says instead.

* * *

"My parents want to meet you," Beca says casually as they sit in a park feeding pigeons.

Chloe raises an impeccable eyebrow and laughs, "Oh, I see how it is."

"Yeah," Beca says, licking her lips. "But I don't think it'd be a good idea."

"Why's that?"

"I just don't want to lie to them directly," Beca says. "It's different when they hear it from other sources, but…"

"I understand," Chloe says.

"I mean, you're great, I know they'd really enjoy meeting you. It's not-"

Chloe silences her with a kiss, warm and soft. A nearby flash alerts Beca that there are photographers around. But even so, as they pull away Beca swears Chloe's eyes are filled with  _heat_  and something else too.

* * *

"Jesse," she shouts as she apparates into his office. "Jesse!"

"Whoa there," Jesse says, grabbing her arm and pulling her from the doorway. He closes the glass doors and waves his wand, casting a silencing ward around them. "What's wrong?"

"We're calling this off," Beca says, pacing from one end of the office to the other.

"What?"

"We are calling this thing with Beale off," she says.

"Okay, calm down," he says, rubbing his hand against her back. "Now tell me what happened."

Her fingers tangle in her hair as she pushes the strands out of her face. She takes a deep breath and attempts to vocalize her racing thoughts, "I know this was- even though I knew that- what I'm trying to say is…"

Jesse says, "It's okay, Beca. It's okay."

"I know this is all pretend, but…" Beca shakes her head, "how do you know if you like someone?"

Jesse massages his temple with two fingers and looks at her, unreadable. "Well, for me personally… I can't stop thinking about the person, I want to spend every moment I can with them, and even when I don't know what to say, I wish I could still be talking to them."

"Jesse, I've fucked everything up again," she says, burying her face into her hands.

"No," he says. "You haven't, Beca. I've known you for a long time, right?" She nods stiffly. "Well I've seen you build up your walls, seen you push away everyone for so long, and I remember – Merlin, I remember it so well – when you finally admitted to being friends with me. If you're sure, if you're really sure, sure about Chloe and you, then I say go for it."

"I have no idea what Chloe thinks," Beca says. "This has just been fake, hasn't it?"

"Has it felt that way to you?"

"No," she says, "but she's just as friendly to everyone else. God, I should just spike her drink with Veritaserum."

"Beca," he says softly. "It's my job to look at pictures and clipping of the two of you all day. And in every single picture, Chloe's moving closer and closer to you. If you think she can fake it that well, that she can feign such utter affection, then you've really overestimated her."

Beca looks up at him and whispers, "Don't get my hopes up just to have them crushed, Swanson."

He chuckles and ruffles her hair, "Not in my job description to do so." And then more quietly, "And I could never do that to you."

* * *

She invites Chloe over to her place for dinner and the entire time, Beca tries to envision what it'd look like if they were doing this for real. And she realizes it probably wouldn't be that much different. Maybe more mood lighting. Maybe.

After a satisfying meal (unfortunately not pizza, but it's still quite fantastic), the two women sit in front of the fireplace, listening to the crackles in near silence.

"You know," Beca says abruptly, "you're really something."

Chloe sips her butterbeer and asks, "Yeah? What does that mean?"

"Uh, just like- I don't know," Beca backtracks, stumbling over her words. "Like I guess you're okay."

"Wow, what a demotion. I went from 'really something' to 'I  _guess_  you're okay.'"

Beca laughs, "You know what I meant."

Chloe turns, face unbearably close to Beca's, and her heart beats wildly with high adrenaline that feels like she's steering her broomstick and flying at top speed, wind tearing at her skin. The redhead whispers, "I don't, but thank you."

Beca's eyes flicker down to her lips and then away. She feels something hot flash in the pit of her stomach and stands up. Chloe hesitantly follows her lead, getting to her feet as well.

"Something wrong?"

"No," Beca says, turning away, focusing on the leaping flames.

"I can't believe you got nominated for the Dai Llewellyn. Ahh, that'll make me worry even more next time I watch you play," Chloe's hands fist into her own shirt as she makes a rather obvious subject change.

This is it then. She can't go on pretending, not anymore. Beca closes her eyes.

She says, "Chloe, I love you." Her voice is raspy with nerves and barely above a whisper. After a long pause, Beca clears her throat, too tense to turn around, and repeats a little shakily, "Chloe, I love you."

Another silence ensues, one so painful and so nerve-wracking that Beca wants to take back what she's said.

Chloe forces an exhale and says, "Say it again."

"Chloe, I love you," Beca says.

"Again."

Pivoting slowly, Beca repeats, "Chloe, I love you."

She's never seen Chloe look so desperate or completely solemn. Chloe reaches out and brushes her fingertips over Beca's mouth and says, "Again."

"Chloe," Beca whispers, as Chloe's thumb traces out the shape of her lips, memorizing the way she says the words, "I love you."

"One more time."

"Chloe," Beca says, "I-"

Chloe cuts her off by crashing her lips against Beca's and the clash of teeth hurts, but it's enough. More than enough.

"I know we were supposed to be faking this, but… it never felt fake to me. Not a second of it," Beca murmurs against her mouth. It sounds like a promise in her own ears.

Chloe smiles gently, all desperation fading away. "I know."

Beca kisses her again, more slowly, and finds that this kiss feels just like all the others – intense and  _real_  but more importantly, right.

* * *

_Epilogue_

"It's so good to  _finally_  meet you, Ms. Beale," Dr. Mitchell says with a warm smile and firm handshake.

"Please, call me Chloe," she says.

"Chloe," he acquiesces. "Thanks for coming to this little housewarming party."

"Oh it's no problem at all, I'm ecstatic to be here," Chloe says. "I've been dying to meet you and your wife for ages."

"Really?" Dr. Mitchell sends a smug look at Beca who good-naturedly sighs with a small smile on her face.

Jesse plops down in one of the green metal chair and toasts the occupant of the chair opposite him. "To our brilliant plans and our rewarding successes."

Aubrey Posen, sophisticated and gathered, removes her sunglasses slowly and says, "Indeed."

"Since we've been so successful here," Jesse nods towards Chloe and Beca, "I thought we'd move on to our other clientele. Ready to play matchmaker again?"

Sipping daintily, Aubrey says, "Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dai Llewellyn refers to the "Dangerous Dai Llewellyn Commemorative Medal" which is awarded at the end of each season to the League player who has performed the most exciting and foolhardy risks during a game.
> 
> Hint for next chapter: Second Chances. Leave a comment if you feel like it, thanks for reading.


	15. Fast Forward, Rewind

_Tick… tick… tick._

"I'll text her again," Cynthia-Rose said, hand digging into her pocket.

Beca nodded absently, and her gaze drifted to the window, eyes following the flight of a Toyota advert blimp. Her fingers tapped against the glossy glass surface of the table, impatient and erratic.

The door swung open with a resounding bang.

"You're late," Beca said immediately with a dark glare.

Chloe swept in, dressed to the nines, short dress – all elegant and sensual black – and sleek heels. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but that was the only acknowledgement.

"Nice of you to join us," Cynthia-Rose said as Chloe plopped into the seat opposite Beca.

"Well, I figured Beca's so used to being the only one who comes."

Beca's jaw clenched.

"Damn, girl," Cynthia-Rose whistled and held her palm out for a high-five which Chloe gave with a smug tilt of her head. "Now, you both agreed to this mediation, so let's agree that neither of you will bite off my head when this is over. We're here to do one thing and one thing only: agree on how to split up your contested belongings."

Chloe nodded. Beca paused briefly before following suit.

"Good," Cynthia-Rose said. "First order of business: Gaming Consoles."

With a clenched fist, Beca looked at Chloe, hoping to gauge what her reaction would be. Chloe stared back stonily, giving no hints.

"Don't even think about it," Beca snarled. "I basically introduced you to console gaming."

"Who bought you the PS3?"

"That was a fucking gift!"

Cynthia-Rose attempted to intervene, "Guys-"

"Yeah, well I'm regifting," Chloe retorted.

"You used  _our_  money to buy it," Beca said.

"We all know that you just want it for your live stream pals," Chloe said, eyes narrowing.

Beca smirked, recalling a particularly enthusiastic participant. Cute girl, young, and so… attentive.

"If you've got it, flaunt it," Beca said. "Besides, it wasn't hard to find people appreciative of such… great graphics."

"Nice one," Cynthia-Rose said and gave her a high-five as well.

Chloe glowered and set her jaw.

A flash of an old memory- failing superbly at Mario Kart, making out as a consolation, Beca's quiet whisper,  _"sore loser"_. She could almost smile at that. Almost.

Chloe looked away. "Fine. You can have the PS4 and Wii, but I'm taking the Xbox."

"Fine," Beca said, "but Tomb Raider is mine."

"Fine," Chloe emphasized.

Cynthia-Rose looked between the two of them before nodding. "Okay, good, that's settled," she said, scribbling down the agreed divide, and continued, "Second order of business: Bella."

Chloe stood abruptly, eyes flashing, and said, "No way. She's mine."

Cynthia-Rose raised an eyebrow and read off the list, "Bella – the motorcycle?"

"Yeah," Beca said, hooking one leg over the other. "The  _motorcycle_. She always loved that damn thing more than she loved anyone." More than she loved me, Beca knew it meant. Chloe would always insist that she was too tired to spend time with Beca, but somehow always found time for "late night outings" with Bella. Was it even possible to cheat with an inanimate object?

Tilting her head, Chloe opened her mouth as if to object, but she turned it into a sneer and said, "What can I say? At least Bella was a good ride."

"Yowch," Cynthia-Rose yelped and high-fived her again as Chloe sat once more. "Cold, man."

Beca scowled. God, she hated Bella. She considered pursuing her claim out of pure spite. Then she could have it auctioned off or demolished or-

But she remembered something that was tucked away in the back of her mind. Her arms secured snugly around Chloe, hugging her from behind, as they made the trip from Chicago to Minneapolis. Their first road trip. Emotion swelled in the pit of her stomach.

She shrugged, "You can have Bella."

Chloe looked at her with clear eyes, bright and shining, and Beca hated it. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and Beca had to drag her gaze away. Chloe said softly, "Thank you." It sounded a lot like an apology.

"You're welcome," Beca mumbled.

"Bella goes to Chloe," Cynthia-Rose said, jotting it down. "Okay, next: jewelry. Rings?"

"Our engagement rings were Chloe's, she can have them back," Beca said.

Chloe said, "Then wedding rings are yours." She pulled the simple titanium band out of the front pocket of her purse and set it on the table. Beca stared at it before pulling it towards herself.

"You've divvyed up most of the smaller pieces, but the platinum necklace…" Cynthia-Rose trailed off.

Chloe recalled the silvery platinum gleaming under the light of the chandelier, dangling around Beca's neck. Beca had pressed her up against the railing of the staircase away from all the prying eyes of their guests, kisses burning against her skin.

"You should have it," Chloe said, blue eyes darkened from the memory. She licked her lips unconsciously.

"Okay," Cynthia-Rose said, making to write it down.

"Wait," Beca said, extending a staying hand.

Cynthia-Rose looked up inquisitively.

Beca thought of the hard ridges and edges of the necklace under her fingertips as she traced it around Chloe's neck. Chloe had given smoky looks and her damned smirks, enticing Beca back into the hotel bed after a particularly long day at the conferences.

A familiar heat filled up in her core. She tried not to let it show and said, "No, you should have it."

Chloe's fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. Gaze flickering upwards, Beca saw the unbridled desire across Chloe's features. It had been awhile. For both of them. (Together.)

"Uhm," Cynthia-Rose tried to ignore the blatant and sudden tension in the room. "What do you guys wanna do then?"

Teeth sinking painfully into her bottom lip, Chloe crossed her arms. The motion drew Beca's attention to her soon-to-be-ex's chest.

"Guys," Cynthia-Rose snapped her fingers.

Startled, Beca straightened up, spine still tingling, and said, "Put it aside for now."

"Alright," Cynthia-Rose said and rolled her eyes. "Then the last item is… this." She pushed forward a picture of the object.

The photograph depicted a white and blue patterned pitch pipe laid against the light oak hardwood floors of their snug condo in Michigan.

Beca tried to stop the onslaught of memories and emotions it brought up to no avail. She swallowed thickly, throat aching, jaw tense.

Chloe's eyes softened to a tranquil azure. She reached out, fingertips descending to lightly touch the edge of the picture. Back to the beginning, she thought. The yellow scarves, Beca's ear studs, black eyeliner, her pure skepticism, Chloe's own unwavering optimism. It didn't feel like fifteen years.

A hesitant hand settled on top of hers, warm and reassuring. Chloe glanced at the black nail polish and wanted to laugh. Maybe this – them – hadn't changed as much as she had thought. If she stripped away the bitterness, the resentment, the anger, the hurt, what was left? Could she even strip them away in the first place?

Beca gave a sad smile.

They'd been fighting each other instead of fighting for this messed up relationship.

Chloe returned the smile.

Whatever was left- well, it couldn't end like this.

She squeezed Beca's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based rather heavily on the short film, "She Said, She Said," which you should definitely check out.
> 
> Hint for next chapter: Gaming. Leave a comment if you feel so inclined, thank you again for reading.


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